Roughly as poetic as a bag of smashed arseholes.







Scribble back.


Saturday, 11 December 2010

2. Supernova

Stars glisten in the light of your eyes
It’s extinguishing, a setting sun exploding
A suicidal supernova in implosion
All slender limb, furied fire
You are the spark to the glisten
Drenched in petroleum, alone
All I do anymore, is sit
With my head to your door
And listen, for sounds of glory,
Sadness, or madness
It’s hypothetical – are you sure?
I don’t know what to prepare for

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