The same song
bleeds into one word.
As I try to figure
the sound of you.

I grab the dying breath,
and I am a poet again.
So we dance alone in
the madness.

The deal we made,
but all the promises
has driven us into
sadness.

So we grab the local,
and we are sated for
the moment.

But it doesn't matter,
because we are not happy.
We are laughing at all
the common nature we all
share.

And hell has nothing
familiar we have not seen,
and the moment has gone.

The experience is all
we have of the delusion
of all.

12/25/2009

Posted on 12/25/2009
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