but I don't care.
Those fresh wet- leaves
have formed your hair.
They weigh you down
and stretched to ground
but there's no more ants
around, around.
The birds have sat
and whistled.
And shat...
It's like they've spat
and it dribbles white
right down your red
heart-shaped bed.
Your chain is moist
and you've lost your voice.
It twists and turns
and tease
your turn.
Stuck with bird -glue
I hope you learn.
I might be back
But
it's not my turn.
so go ahead
and wait you turn.
Because every time
you make my stomach churn.
( Object Response)
No comments:
Post a Comment