Wednesday, September 16, 2009


Feed me more lines

Beautiful, flattering lines of powder.

Spit them
Speak them
Snort them
Chew them
Take in their flattery while they still have the power.

The feeling wears off
their meaning is lost

Makes me itch for more of your flowers

When what you said before holds truth no more
I am fiending and skeeving, hurting not healing

Your lines have turned me sour.