Direction I get from lips of blind.
Sucking sap from the bark of another lost mind.
Sticky the syrup my hungers find.
Swirling my sight ahead or behind.
Sweet to the pain is the sugars release.
But poisoned the phloem from which flows the grease.
Choose the sirens and the pain will cease.
Or avoid and rest in the whirlpools dark peace.
Sucking sap from the bark of another lost mind.
Sticky the syrup my hungers find.
Swirling my sight ahead or behind.
Sweet to the pain is the sugars release.
But poisoned the phloem from which flows the grease.
Choose the sirens and the pain will cease.
Or avoid and rest in the whirlpools dark peace.
VIEW 10 of 10 COMMENTS
I got nothin' to say. It's Sunday morning. It snowed last night. I spent yesterday shopping for a motorcycle. Can't decide what to get. Can't believe I am going through a mid- life crisis at 34. At least I'm not buying a porsche. Or a vette.
I think I might post some pictures on here today. I should write something, but that might require more effort than I am willing to put forth.