Writing.
if i don't wake.
up at seven, creaky and worn
not sure i can take another one of those storms
feels at times brittle bones like mine
will rattle and break when i'm kept up late.
if i don't wake you can have my shoes
i got some knick-knacks i never use.
i got a box with paint and stuff
you can paint a portrait, i know it's enough.
just don't you go on painting me,
another portrait i don't need.
where i'm going i don't need this shit,
and that's pretty much the end of it.
up at seven, creaky and worn
not sure i can take another one of those storms
feels at times brittle bones like mine
will rattle and break when i'm kept up late.
if i don't wake you can have my shoes
i got some knick-knacks i never use.
i got a box with paint and stuff
you can paint a portrait, i know it's enough.
just don't you go on painting me,
another portrait i don't need.
where i'm going i don't need this shit,
and that's pretty much the end of it.
posted by Blog Monkey at 7:33 p.m.
5 Comments:
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
what if we paint on you while you're sleeping? That would be kinda funny, no? We could paint like a gorilla chest on you or big titties or something. Then when you wake up you'd be all like, "shit man, some assholes broke in here and painted me up with my own goddamn paints! I'm gonna write a poem about this and then they'll see! No one paints me without getting poemed up real good!" And we'd be outside behind the hedge laughing it up big time!
Excellent, love it! » »
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