We’re fighting
When you relive the same exhausting argument every day and you realize all the clocks in the crumbling mansion have broken for a long time
We’re fighting
And all the children fall
Into the posies that fell
Out of their pockets
We’re fighting again
What else is new, rosy cheeks
Stained with dew
You’ve donned your rosy hue
A cloak of perturbation
A shroud Of temperamental
Sensation in the heavens
Where the angry gods take the
Blue from the sky
And give it to you and I
And now our pity party in the
Quicksand no one is invited to
Is begging for witnesses
Begging for press coverage
Alone within the banishing circle
Our house made of salt
The shudders are solemnly
Closing their eyelids
Waiting for a feather
To hit the ground
And scab its knees again
Our tails between our legs
Please don’t chase me again
If we could ever have the
Pleasure
Of doing this again
All I ask is that you don’t chase me
Don’t chase me again
Leave me on the chaise lounger
With my arm across my head
Sighing for arrested respite
Gazing at the ceiling
Anticipating
The inevitable
About the Creator
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