Thursday, May 12, 2016


Skirt is squared,
As the feelings,
Perfectly places,
Into the boxes,
That hold them all up,
In the attic,
Of long lost,
Self importance,
Voice rings trough the bells,
Church bench sells,
Blue leggs a blue place,
In the aim,
To spit up grace,
Yet all getting thrown,
Are words,
Slammed across the faces,
Silence all too loud,
Try to stop this car,
From crashing,
While merely from the outside,
Looking in,
Light summer breeze,
Huggs the goozebumps on the skin,
The same she's been living in,
No home,
This heart wants to roam,
Find something for her own,
Fled her house,
To the crooked path,
When wishing me death,
Don't bother,
You already died,
In my eyes.

We are the lost generation.

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