King's highwayA Poem by Hollow ManThis is the end beautiful friend, this is the end my only friend And I still hurt. My face is a smoldering pit, my heart a metronome Keeping rhythm, a haunting beat in my head But I don’t believe in this existence, or one after it. I don’t believe in time but it believes in me. I don’t believe in love either. The end, of our elaborate plans, the end, of everything that stands, the end… They had no right to bring me here, Now I have none to disappear ha-ha-ha. I’d rather be a robot than at the will of a sick-humored creator. I can hear his pompous roaring laugher, His breath reeks of french-fry grease and kerosene And no way in hell does he cart round all his holy books. So I don’t sleep to save the disappointment in waking up again And I’m sure to pass by twenty seven. Death is in my hands. Laugh at that b***h. Desperately in need…of some…stranger’s hand in a…desperate land I sit to see the different shades of gray That are displayed in the many strangers’ faces, With labels as names and brains for brains Are. Any. Really. Ever. Satisfied. I don’t believe in love. And all the children are insane, all the children are insane waiting for the summer rain To wash it all away, to wash it all away The killer awoke before dawn, he put his boots on And he walked on down the hall He went into the room where his sister lived, and…then he Paid a visit to his brother, and then he He walked on down the hall, and And he came to a door…and he looked inside Father, yes son, I want to kill you Mother…I want to…WAAAAAA The End -Jim Morrison © 2010 Hollow ManReviews
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16 Reviews Added on October 31, 2010 Last Updated on October 31, 2010 AuthorHollow ManStafford, VAAboutI was born an old soul. Such is life. I live in a wasteland town in Northern Virginia. Poetry is solace. I run an online literary journal titled Toska with my best friend, which is now accepting submi.. more..Writing
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