Corrosive, ~
It's been a long time...
He spat his achromatic ribbon on his own terms, placed a gun between the thighs of democracy and trained an eye on complacency.
He kept common ground with the thieves and murderers,
Metaphorically speaking, he was on the same level.
The same moral high ground.
Sprinkling the mushroom cloud with glitter,
Telling her it would all be alright,
There was no dust sheet for an apocalypse,
No redemption for the heroes tonight.
And with flash backs and elliptical shadows tracing their bloody footsteps, his liquid meth spilt vagrant pipe dreams in to the mesh of existence.
((How could this be real.))
No further. No future?
Can't say I haven't tried.
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THE GOODS
You're currently reading the poem
Corrosive, ~, which
was posted on Mar 6, 2010 by
PaulMacklin.
This is a collaborative poem.
About this poem
"My part from a collaboration with an old friend."
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