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by Corey Lockaby

when, talking about disasters
i don't believe a word
just roll, silently
away, pulse in my ears
diminishing but l.ou.de.r with every
broke bass drum WHUD
my heart made of rotten wood
splintering with every muscle contraction
making me want
scented fingers, reaching only at empty glances
empty faces, laughing, corrupt, futile
grainy ears sifting through mixed tired controlled
voices under bright black and blue flourescent
lights pounding into my pathway skull
flickering
flickering with every beat*

*(my only desire my love my hate it's all the same thing now
when never again, never again, saying, never again is this
the problem i faced before)

06/19/2006

Posted on 06/20/2006
Copyright © 2024 Corey Lockaby

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