The bones and vessels in my arms vibrate, I don’t know if I’m living desperately or trying desperately to live
I am a fraud of a man constructed out of clay and privilege, and it rains and I die, and it drys and i pull myself together
In a house, locked in a room, cutting up newspapers to stitch into my clothes, On the street, covered in ink
I have studied for years, mastering my trade, no one cares, the days slip by
I wonder now if there ever were better times, I’m scrounging all of history for something fond to remember
red pictures are only faded by time, a corrosion, a rust, memory lapse, itching to break these bones
© 2009–2012 Powered by Tumblr
