Saturday, January 24, 2009

Smoke Me, Im Dope.

I know shes lost.
Barely talks cuz' her mind is sad.
Screaming drown my tears in Dimetapp.
Suicidal in the morning.
Never snoring.. a light sleeper.
Disgusted by life but she still fights the reaper.
Shes got a Sickle of her own.
In her own home shes still foreign.
Pouring 'till the cup is flooded just like her soul.
Eyes blacker than coal skin paler than ghosts.
Smokes when shes nervous.
Swears her purpose was misplaced.
Absent from safe.
Shes one mistake away.
Of realizing she's mortal sinner... just like us,
but her love is thinner than Turnpike dust.
Never lust.
Not love, she can't fathom the emotion.
She keeps floating.
Comatose without devotion.
Her adjuration has her waiting,
but ambition is all.
So she falls from her conscious,
'till her condition is hauled.
Barely flawed...
However, shes miles from perfect.
Rarely surfaces.
But once in a while,
she grips the fact,
that shes merely a child.


Jenny Fidelity said...

Deeper than the deepest blackest hole.
What, what.