Sitting in myself
Horrible, this pain and the little you know
Three years back, I spent all my time not writing
This summer has reminded me just of that
Then I had a pardonable excuse:
Those whom are in love don't write down their happiness.
it was thought that we were on top of the mothafuckin world, we said so too;
dad's rebuttal: one word (coke) so we shot down Santa Monica, crashed on sand,
drank until we felt the sea came within, settling ourselves, made out black all around.
The feeling, the fallingdad's rebuttal: one word (coke) so we shot down Santa Monica, crashed on sand,
drank until we felt the sea came within, settling ourselves, made out black all around.
When I am "living
In love," I don't go just spelling things out.
The feeling of the first time
Seeing myself with
No bruises circling caps
Was a separate sort of arrogance
Women in love keep knees kempt
Before I was whorish
I was myself
When I was a lover
I was a writer who didn't write
And now?
(You give me meaning for once).
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2 comments:
It can hardly be so.
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