-- on the glass, i traced the sun with my thumb. it sank into the ground
sometime between saturday and tuesday, i want to go the a pier, guys. one with lights and ferris wheels and neon colors. i want to take lots and lots of pictures. anyone?
live a little, talk a lot; it's the way this goes.
i've come to fear the little knives beneath their well-pressed clothes.
their arms are reaching; reach is spreading through the neon glow.
their mouths are moving, but their voices sound like telephones.
the traffic hums; the traffic grumbles near my old window.
the street lights flicker; glow and hover like suspended snow.
i used to watch the moon retreat and wonder where it goes.
now I just wonder why my head is overrun with ghosts
live a little, talk a lot; it's the way this goes.
i've come to fear the little knives beneath their well-pressed clothes.
their arms are reaching; reach is spreading through the neon glow.
their mouths are moving, but their voices sound like telephones.
the traffic hums; the traffic grumbles near my old window.
the street lights flicker; glow and hover like suspended snow.
i used to watch the moon retreat and wonder where it goes.
now I just wonder why my head is overrun with ghosts