Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god
The stench of Foldgers in your cup
The scent of coffee reminds me
Of a stale breeze pushing into me,
Threatening to stab away the pain
If I were to inhale deeply the old stench
Of ripped apart memories.
Ripples of grief force the silence to explode.
The overwhelming bang of coming
Out of my mind has scarred me with
Sick innuendos that bridge that gap
Between my holey mind.
Where boats have burned;
Where sky has fallen;
Where the foreshore gets kissed;
Where clouds have failed,
And so have I,
Bleaching the horizon with disdain
As seagulls of regret pick and wound
The finer parts of my lost sanity.
3-8-11
Of a stale breeze pushing into me,
Threatening to stab away the pain
If I were to inhale deeply the old stench
Of ripped apart memories.
Ripples of grief force the silence to explode.
The overwhelming bang of coming
Out of my mind has scarred me with
Sick innuendos that bridge that gap
Between my holey mind.
Where boats have burned;
Where sky has fallen;
Where the foreshore gets kissed;
Where clouds have failed,
And so have I,
Bleaching the horizon with disdain
As seagulls of regret pick and wound
The finer parts of my lost sanity.
3-8-11
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The stench of Foldgers in your cup
The stench of Foldgers in your cup
