Afternoon.

by ALEX   Jun 1, 2008


Polite sips of sugar drinks;
The gentle pulse of guitar strings.
The frantic pull of thigns to come;
Threads lacking in this web we've spun.
The violent lights beneath we sit;
A twist-cap to prove that we exist.
A stack of chairs, beneath me sways;
A clever plot, and thought delays.
Colored buttons, each pressed in turn;
Watch me, as I watch this burn.

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Latest Comments

  • 15 years ago

    by The Angel of Secrets

    I'm adding this to my favourites, no doubt. This was a greeeat piece. BE PROUD!

    The Angel of Secrets