too cold to count the lines

watch the rain
every drop is a life
half spent

there are no
chance encounters
in this animated existence
subtle shifts in
grey consciousness
breed
un-sanitized moments of
muted memory
as cosmic strings are pulled loose
then re-fastened with chaotic style

don’t stumble when you’re hungry
and never forget
that love festers in a cauldron of
unspoken words

everything ends in the black
so
leave a light on for me
and remember
this dystopia we created
only lasts as long as
the burning of
one
yellow
indian
cigarette

401-too-cold-to-count-the-lines

Share

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.