Lines
Lines
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.
No comments:
Post a Comment