| » Poem: It's late |
It's late
written by Genocide Reaper08:15 AM 2/25/05| Its late, and I'm listening to bad company, drinking some good brown whiskey. Thinking of every old dead enemy. I'm compelled to my curiosity. I want to wander through the depths of my dark mind. I want to see inside my soul all the time. I want to know what's going on, to be attached to this intuition, like a grape is to a vine. Like that fruit made into wine, I'll one day wither and die. But not until I get what I want. Not until I see my dreams come to life. Guess I could travel around like a vagabond, going from bar to bar, playing my guitar. Do what I have to, until I become that falling black star. Hell, I might even buy a plane ticket, go the desert, grab a cooler, and watch the war. And when they ask me. "How did you get here?" I'm just going to say. "Easy man, without fear." And when they ask me what I think about the death I'm going to take a steady breath and say that day. "I'm not going to shed a tear." And when they ask. "Why the sunglasses?" "I wouldn't sit without my shades. that I would dare." And when they say. "Hey, you long haired hippy looking motherfucker. Don't you have a pair?" I'm going to grab my balls and say. "Yeah, and after you're wife licks them clean, they'll have a glare." And when they say. "I'm going to kill you!" I'm going to say. "I DON'T CARE!" So many forks in the road, just pick your path, and get on the move. We all fuck up, but we can all fix it. Even if everyone else doesn't like it. There might be a wall in my way, but believe me when I say. I'll tear it down one day! |
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| » Comments / Feedback | by psycho_bunny (2-25-2005 - 08:29 AM)
| Absolutely,
extremely,
good.
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