Winter Poem
This post was written by admin on December 26, 2008
Posted Under: Pathetic
Posted Under: Pathetic
The feeling of urgency itching my brain might mean the subconscious expectation of death amid the dying vegetation.
After all, nature has trained billions of bodies to shrink from the freezing breeze in anticipation of lighter rations.
Yet the coal-fired garbage train needs more each day just to pile the shit heap higher.
Rotten pumpkins form black blotches the shape of ghosts by the middle of November.
I invite the cold but refuse to offer it a drink, even when it screams down my coat.
I’ll piss insults into snow banks even if I drip icicles
Cause I’m the fourth wheel and the Winter is a tricycle
Related posts:
- Fuck the Winter Ain’t winter some bullshit? Not even the warm kind that...
Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.
