A/N: Well, it's not a poem, but. Here you go anyways.
Cataclysmic booming like a boombox on the verge of wreckage, like wreckage in sound, not words, not poems, not thoughts the thoughts flee out of the prison of a mind chased by the booming like the end of the world, shattering the world and the cliff where feet perch staring down at needle sharp rocks below, canyon red sedimentary stone, crimson blood insanity and ringing ringing ringing, a thousand alarms blaring, my ears bleeding bloody crimson madness and oh Mother, oh God, oh Lucifer fallen from Heaven, oh DJ won't you please turn down the volume?
YOU ARE READING
Tiger Feathers
PoetryJust a collection of poems. First is most recent, last is from years ago.
