One year is subjective
blue bird
flaming mythics
got me questioning
why don’t they
read me
read me
listen at least
my words are resting
way onwards
in this life
and the next
and the next
and the ones before
I’m rusty
I’m in a cocoon
always liked the dark
at my final quest
don’t worry I’m twitching
fire in fountains
blood shot eyes
dark circles
and love in waiting
I’m honest and true
lonely now
so always struggling
with these embers
long cold and spreading
piece by piece
chiselled softer
tired and under
black and purple
like time travel that
grips me harder
than those eight tentacles
wrapped and rapping
like a nutcase
repeating thoughts
repeat thoughts
repeated ideas
fly anywhere
with this bass drum
that I’m pretty sure
was and is
someone’s heart
just not mine.
