this is how the world collapses
these are the hills closing in,
the sky pushing down,
pulling the oxygen from your lungs
pills, but the pain won’t go away
the proper dosage, and still the
heart remains a broken record
and who is pollock in this
kingdom of despair but a
surrogate father or an emperor in exile?
who is your father but a drunken
stranger in a faded photograph?
or maybe there’s nothing but
dull grey rain all fucking day and
your hands refuse to work
the brushes gather dust and
the colors have no meaning
man with a gun in the doorway of
your sister’s room or
hanging from a greasy length of rope
says believe in hope but
don’t be a slave to it
gotta remember that every age is
the age of murdered children
gotta stand by the broken window
and watch water pool in the
corners of your lover’s heart
wait for the future to arrive and
then hate whatever
small irreversible change it brings
No comments:
Post a Comment