clincher

singing a song
that nobody knows
in the delicate
intricacies of doom

as time spirals in bits
between the street lights
in the unimaginable
burning of night

we are the invincible
we are the impossible
sweater-wearing nymphs
of the apocalypse

slow burning in the waters
which cage a hybrid variety
that is not inclined to live
but is to sick to die

No comments:

Post a Comment