Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god
The Helping Hand
The helping hand comes, I swat it away. My fingers quake, my breathing gets hard and my heart beats too hard. I am choking on the idea of my creation. I could die, but who would notice until it was time to sweep away my corpse. I would be another lame pile of bones awaiting a burial. I could have been something, but I chose to eternally sleep in a bed made of discontent.
While I sit here looking stoic, I let fatigue crush me and destroy me. I let the lack of sleep smash me and tease me and all I've got left to flaunt are ruined hands that built no bridges; ruined hands that held no empire.
1-27-09
While I sit here looking stoic, I let fatigue crush me and destroy me. I let the lack of sleep smash me and tease me and all I've got left to flaunt are ruined hands that built no bridges; ruined hands that held no empire.
1-27-09
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The Helping Hand
The Helping Hand
