About as subtle as an earthquake, I know
My mistakes were made for you.
In the backroom of a bad dream she came and whisked me away, enthused.
It's as solid as a rock rolling down a hill, the fact is that it probably will hit something
on the hazardous terrain.
And we're just following the flock 'round and in between, before we're smashed to smithereens, like they were and we scramble from the blame.
It's the fame that put words in her mouth
She couldn't help but spit 'em out.
Innocence and arrogance entwined, in the filthiest of minds.
She was bitten on her birthday and now a face in the crowd she's not.
And I suspect that now forever the shape she came to escape is forgot.
And it's a lot to ask her not to sting, and give her less than everything
around your crooked conscience she will wind.
'Cause we're just following the flock
'Round and in between, before we're smashed to smithereens
Like they were
And we scramble from the blame.
YOU ARE READING
a collection of my favourite poems
Poesiasylvia plath, sappho, richard sicken, walt whitman, pablo neruda, virginia woolf, oscar wilde- to name a few, of the english language
