Saturday, November 21, 2015


The depression laden air
Cuts through like knife,
What is what
And how is now, junk
Filled rooms are burdened by depressed tables,
People sit,
Talk, and
Slowly exasperate themselves.

The wolves surround with many eyes,
A love like not,
Don't know how.
Maybe another time she said,
Burdened eyes.
Arms are heavy
        Vain's in junk.

The city is disturbing,
The house,
Many windows
           got no soul.
Lets run like kids I say
I never was,
Burdened eyes,
Not like tomorrow.
Stanley stands there with arms up in the air,
This is the end he says,
Maybe not, there is always tomorrow,
Burdened eyes,   
      an discontent

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