"...blood-banks go arid
when the constant is drain..."
Chewed up, spit out... no matter,
It's a miserable thing when it's first discovered -
sucking on menthol one after other,
when the ripe give-and-take
doesn't have any give...
you cannot make love, nor enough so you live.
Reality's blind, when eyes are inverted...
no prize to be found - it's all been perverted.
Confused, betrayed... and shaken,
when the truth of
Tell me you love me then shit on my lawn -
I slip into vapor when the menthol is gone,
blood-banks go arid
when the constant is drain...
massaging your psyche, while I bear the stain.
You siphon my spirit, every ounce of it free...
this tank is now empty - find another to bleed.
Copyright © 2011 Stone Bryson. All Rights Reserved.
Written April 2011