I can speak my own demise
and decide
whether or not to get behind
this tantamount desire
to go about with,
as one would say,
the precocious ironies of my independent nature.
This girl, she breathes
smoking desire
over her profound lips
a withstanding of sorts,
in modeling
any one of her
condemning flaws.
As if she stands
for anything greater,
her life wouldn't be bitter,
yet the noise and sound confounds her.
And sound, as we all know
is the bane of our keen eardrums.
Her delights are intentional,
and meant to be harmless.
But what delights can she have,
when decisions become pointless?
No real future awaits her,
only the future her dreams promise.
And in the reality of a day
night can take over
and carry it all away.
No comments:
Post a Comment