park by the fence away from suspicion
in our coat pockets cans of liquid
walk along the air is cold and thin
when will we get there?
don't fall of the cliff
then
crouching in a circle, six
us, in a crude hut of sticks twigs and
plastic lining the walls to keep the wind
modern poverty
tragedy as beauty?
sky as dark and full as our pupils
pinpoint stars were the cities on a map
rusty old camping grill hot with ash
blow a little harder feed the passion
speak quietly
the woods are shallow
choking now on suburban cleanliness
synthetic air smells so numb
breathe in smoke swirling
fantastic forms floating by
trying to connect
to worlds now dead
a hopeless plight?
I thought it might

be.

I'll read this when I'm not sitting next to this loserface in economics

BTW, YOU GET THOSE COMMENTS WHEN YOU'RE ACTIVE IN THE COMMUNITY, MS. ANTISOCIAL! They love me here.. and by they, I mean you. And by you, I mean..

well

You.
» Dilated on 2007-03-26 05:40:50

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