Fuckers like me don't have the rhyme
(A song)
Cut me into pieces
burn me like a storm
these hills that my head carries
fucks my lungs,
a roomful of smoke.
Memories of home
clay rivers, boats
my little fingers
now branches
making love to stones
aching notes, drones.
I revolve round the sun
a slave of this existence
just a loop
following orders
eating my breath
swallowing truth
in perfect rhythm.
Self inflicted pain.
I am the disease -
Escaping mirrors,
peeing over time.
Memories of home
clay rivers, boats
my little fingers
now branches
making love to stones
aching notes, drones.
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