(breathe)
As much as you’d like to impeach me
Righteous wind
Hope is too slippery to hold
Your fangs still show in your smile
A languished victim’s denial
I am a lightning strike.
I am your headlights in hell.
Close your eyes hard, little boy
The volume only goes louder
Brace yourself
The perfection storm is near
You can sketch out your route in the sand,
But it will be gone come sunrise.
1 comment:
I like it.
Good to see you at it again.
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