Fallen

wings of an angel... hardly, they don't pick you up.

short suicide stories of childhood fickle reads,

where mummy wouldn't be shouting at you

if she knew,

those inclinations that pray on your mind,

sickling thick broken ceramics

clawing up your grey-smogged lobes,

drifting countless, finally until,

vomit wrenching stark-right slammed

of vicious love-whim parts. Is it. 

Reviews

[Wondering Mind]

It is...Sad

[Nobody.]

fresh language and word combos. (chewing up your grey-smogged lobes) nice!
(finally until) love it! (vicious love-whim parts) bam!

I'm not positive of the exact meaning of the piece whic, for me, is part of the profoundity of it. it is like a brilliant abstract that pulls images ad emotions from the mind...of childhood fear, mental instability, lostness and disgust. great construct. truly felt it.

cheers!