Like a plastic scissor handle
i- swerve to avoid sleeping sheep
And broken sepulchres- gargoyles frozen cement smile
with tongue
a-hanging in the ninth ward
I’m sweating with the thought
of going underground again
My teeth are numb, I’m still faking it
for your sake but you don’t even care or
acknowledge ANYTHING which means-
What you don’t understand
I’m not trying to relate? Well, drifting around again
isn’t the only way to skin a cat or drink an inkwell with
you just walking and walking and walking. Please
don’t use my stamps anymore I’m so sick of finding packages
for people who don’t live here anymore or are even alive
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