(I dug these out of an old journal)
Prayer
good morning
sounds like rain
random
patterns
in the dust
incomprehensible whispers of the past
like the suns rays
reaching
through the clouds
we spend our time
chasing shadows
of what we wanted to be
the children
we were
the memories
that become us
lie like naked reminders
of our pain
belligerent screams
pointed towards
your incoherent God
**********************************************
love
topless pink chocolate in a frantic symphony
beneath
delirious whispers
of screaming
love
produce languid bitter versions
of crushing
madness
(This is your brain on drugs...*laughs*)
5.07.2007
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2 comments:
I prefer my chocolate symphonies to be wearing tops, thank you.
I know...pot is bad. No matter what people say, pot does NOT enhance your writing ability. *laughs*
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