The dehydrated working class poet. Not afraid to admit I'm wrong. Just hard being wrong for so long.
Sunday, 11 March 2018
Are We there yet?
The silence,
Before the violence,
Before the random acts of kindness.
A different pace of life,
A different taste in my mouth.
A different song,
And no more tears in your eyes.
I like dancein on tables and gettin drunk, drunk enought to fall and stumble, to know im lost and feel its ok to mumble. time takes to long so im tryin to express how i feel. but the question is always there is any of this real?
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