Monday, 11 March 2013

cold little horror

some sums from the summer,
rung necks for ladders,
all the way up to the top button,
i can feel you wincing in the wind,
i can feel the halo tighten around my throat,
tied tight to my skin,
some songs for cold weather,
this should've been, coulda been better,
 four tight little hours,
cold winter showers,
and all the awesome colours,
burning laughter in my throat,
ripped through the chords as they broke,
like waves that we swallow,
wet lungs choke,
some prayers for the summer,
this is the hollow mocking wrote,
do you not remember,
do you not remember?
do you not remember?
some sums from the summer,
rung necks for ladders,
climbing clumsy brothers,
together forever floundering,
half wits collected,
around collapsable ideals,
the flat land reveals,
all that is spherical and real,
the empirical reveal,
and you see it,
coming at you like a moon,
hallowed and horrible,
howling disasters,
lisping whispers,
death reeking sinistersssssss,
sisters piled like empty cans to shoot,
all the way up to the top,
rolling over like waves,
from the bottom to the top,
all the way over,
some sums from the summer,
before hell froze over,
and choked at the back of my throat,
like a stale biscuit.