Forgotten stones lay like useless dregs of humanity,
pockmarked and battered against the rough tongue of an insatiable desire
I am drab and tired, sick and wasted, a fleeting moment on the dark side of the sun,
We’ve been singing like angels, sinking like stones, shrugging off memories,
Shedding our clothes.
I find our shape a metaphorical demurral of love’s sight,
Blind, just like the sun crashing haphazardly through the tears of the driver,
I find each moment more and more pitiful than the last.
I am tired of your mundane confabulations.
I am sick of this remedial hop, skip and jump of existence,
I treasure what I have left on the outer skin of sanity,
Snails drag their rotting parchment through my mind,
Slowly colliding through a turgid grey matter.
I am useless and pointless,
I despise the constant disregard for one another,
I am at odds with the values placed on life.
I’ve shaped my tongue into a ball,
Thick of enough words that I might choke on.