Glass,
Cold on my hand
As I swallow slowly
The drink and pain blend
Muted images, moving all over me
Making me weightless, making me dizzy
Why am I here again, knowing I don’t belong?
I keep on letting myself go, never firm, never strong
Ah, I am already crowded, no room for more
The last stop before home, my “temple” the store
The glass and my face on it
I hate what I see
If I could only drown in it
Floating like a bee
Blurred, foggy faces,
Distorted through the smoke
Acting out of their misery
Embittered by the joke
As the last spice on a failed soup
I join in with despair,
Always up for yet another scoop
Once left alone, already a pair
Ah, I am already crowded, no room for more
The last stop before home, my “temple” the store
October 5, 2008
Fashion For Environment!
Saturday, 4 October 2008
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