goes the faucet
as I lay in swollen sacks of
portobello sheets
cars pass outside
and the shadows shift
and change across my
plastercine ceiling tiles
the mind sees things the
way we want it too
and we remember our history
in such a way to suit our own
delusions
I move past events around and
change the tone of the sub-plots
so that in the end I can sleep
peacefully knowing it was all your
fault and the faucet won't stop
but I let it sing me to sleep
silence would be worse
drip drip drip...
- January 26, 2006
- Relapser
- No Comments
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