The way that she slowly drops
All her petals like a crying blossom
That dies in muted summer breezes
Makes me sick in my stomach.
The way that she forcefully swallows
Thin slivers of a sour reality
And her own bitter reflection
Makes me sick in my stomach.
The way she casts so many self-centred pebbles
And sits behind a mask
That unconsciously drips a shadow
Makes me sick in my stomach.
The way that he gapes
At the narrow promises
And the gorgeous possibilities
Makes me sick
In my big,
Fat
Stomach.
All her petals like a crying blossom
That dies in muted summer breezes
Makes me sick in my stomach.
The way that she forcefully swallows
Thin slivers of a sour reality
And her own bitter reflection
Makes me sick in my stomach.
The way she casts so many self-centred pebbles
And sits behind a mask
That unconsciously drips a shadow
Makes me sick in my stomach.
The way that he gapes
At the narrow promises
And the gorgeous possibilities
Makes me sick
In my big,
Fat
Stomach.
2 comments:
Did you change a word? petal or something.
Anyway, I like this poem like you know. And I think the title is good. I'll name a film as your title.
From LAn!
I hate you.
not really.
get blogging girl i'm getting interblag bored. give me something good to read
write about that uber sexy bonnie chick you hang out with. what a babe.
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