And here we are again.
Fumble for the elusive, silent blue sparks
Filtering through the layers of mediocre Wednesdays
-the impossible viscosity is the fault of my own.
Choking under the cold whispers of complacency
And I am gently implying to my Caucasian self to
But the burns of ambition do not produce enough pain
To lift me out of these mellow pools of idealism.
Poetry » General Rated: K, English, Words: 69, Favs: 1, Published: 6/7/2006