The old attic of
forgotten memories
beckons me deep in my
slumber
so I dream up boxes and
open them up like wounds
(because they are).
Mistakes ricochet all over my
brain like the angry buzz of bees
on three shots of espresso
except it’s worse than an echo;
it’s life.
forgotten memories
beckons me deep in my
slumber
so I dream up boxes and
open them up like wounds
(because they are).
Mistakes ricochet all over my
brain like the angry buzz of bees
on three shots of espresso
except it’s worse than an echo;
it’s life.
Viva_la_Revolution
cest.la.vie
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