The Sailor

The Sailor’s in town
buying up TIME:
These closing remarks
of a sickness of mine
emerge through a cloud
of cigarette smoke.
My groaning intestines
are begging for hope.


november 14th, 2008

King of Yr Own

Your Highness,

Your system is exposed to risk.
Your data.
You.

Another day you’re waiting
for the crack of lonely
dawn

questioning your sanity
and what is worth
and true

Sitting in a wheelchair
with a dirty
cotton crown

Your army’s blasting stereo
Wrapped in foil
and glue

Sounds a little gritty
When you’re
high and down.

Visions turning slightly blue…

It sounds a little off -key
When you’re
on your own.

декември

погреба

последното

есенно

жълто

листо