Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god
Naïve
Break me
Hold me
Kill me
Mold me.
Desire,
My fire.
My hands
Make
Demands.
Knives and slits,
Glide and fit.
Sit.
The hour
Brings forth a
Racist shower.
Abuse,
Use and
Make me
Your muse.
Amuse me,
And soothe.
Abuse me so
Smoothly.
Disdain
In pain.
Fled fast from
Vast flood, from
High clouds, from
High grounds come
High sounds to
Die sound.
Maybe a picnic
In the depths of
Our hell where
Our yell
Can quell
The bleeding of our hearts.
Loving you.
I don't want to start.
July 28, 2005
Suge
*This poem is about someone I fell in love with (or tried to refrain from falling in love with) who is about 45 or so years old.*
Hold me
Kill me
Mold me.
Desire,
My fire.
My hands
Make
Demands.
Knives and slits,
Glide and fit.
Sit.
The hour
Brings forth a
Racist shower.
Abuse,
Use and
Make me
Your muse.
Amuse me,
And soothe.
Abuse me so
Smoothly.
Disdain
In pain.
Fled fast from
Vast flood, from
High clouds, from
High grounds come
High sounds to
Die sound.
Maybe a picnic
In the depths of
Our hell where
Our yell
Can quell
The bleeding of our hearts.
Loving you.
I don't want to start.
July 28, 2005
Suge
*This poem is about someone I fell in love with (or tried to refrain from falling in love with) who is about 45 or so years old.*
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Naïve
Naïve
