Something

Psychotic idol took my small hands

Told me to count to 42

Skeptical

Trains tear blood pathways in my brain

While they circled my room 

Pit me against sunken flesh

Faded peach, neglectful garden

Grains of dirt vomit of seeds

before they have the chance to bloom

Anti surface

Withdrawal drawing out my leftovers

Pertaining our knowing 

All will end.

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

i always dreamed when i was little that i would die at 42....didn't happen, but Elvis did...and he was my idol when i still had little hands...perhaps he was a bit psychotic i think...