you don't struggle against the label
but you drink yourself under the table
try to impress me without getting nude
i've got my fingers crossed and i'm afraid they're glued
you drink more than your mum can afford
your voice is like an off-key guitar chord
your mind inspires symphonies
but your story brings casualties
you're at the point where death is a choice
you're this close to listening to the devil's voice
gather the teeth and strings in a basket
and scatter them over the discarded casket
YOU ARE READING
A Little Thing Called Death
Poesiai won't explain many of these. they are for you to work out and they'll probably mean something different to everyone. (i own these poems) ((FINISHED.))
