Monday, June 21, 2010

Day 334: my organs, your breathe, whistling in the wind

we can fill this car with tasteful regret
how the spit falls our our bodies
when we say things we didn't mean to mean
last night i brush skin with god while you slept
played Russian roulette
with the moon rise
her breath breaking against the ceiling
she has no idea where the pain come from
but its somewhere inside this body
you'll find my organs screaming
waiting for someone to tear them apart
from a distance
it sounds like the hallelujah chorus
at sunrise

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