Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god
Five. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty.
My heart is with you,
You shivered your soul away
And left behind a flaccid corpse.
We wouldn't bury you,
But burn you instead and let
The wind have your ashes.
An itch on the inside,
I cannot scratch it without
Silver razorblades.
And once I've slit it all away,
I know that I can give you back
The heart you never took.
12-15-10
You shivered your soul away
And left behind a flaccid corpse.
We wouldn't bury you,
But burn you instead and let
The wind have your ashes.
An itch on the inside,
I cannot scratch it without
Silver razorblades.
And once I've slit it all away,
I know that I can give you back
The heart you never took.
12-15-10
Comment On This Poem --- Vote for this poem
Five. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty.
Five. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty.
