March 2011
3 posts
1 tag
what solace there must be in being young, thin, and beautiful!
in clean clothes and open roads; with the breeze in your hair and life without care.
poor, ugly, and pudgy; i only look forward to an end to this hurt and the sound of a shovel filling my nostrils with dirt.
1 tag
“washed up on a cold creek bank”
the words, they scathe, the critics are frank
face the crowd not there to thank
an illusory vision of a life that sank
the shore is a set, the creek is a tank
1 tag
i am just a pill you swallow
in a lonely bottle i wait and wallow
my capsule body halved and hollow
chased with the tears that always follow
