About 5 miles in
you reach a point
where the
grass doesn’t
grow anymore.
There is a wrench
a rope
an old faucet
and week old eggs.
Hours will pass and
your hair
will fall
out and you will loose
everything.
You never meant
for
this
great schism.
The wind now binds
us as one body
one that is
defined as
logy.
No comments:
Post a Comment