in this black and white, clear perception

I taste like dirt

They call me again

I want it to end

just call me again

we will be free

like hanging, twisting in a tree

our hair in the wind

we could even be friends?

Or a gun to the head

stuck in a web?

could you let me out

make us believe

a gun will help me?

slowly venture away!

I will teach you!

like everyone else look at your skin

maybe you got the disease.

How much I hurt,

I taste like dirt,

the mud flows through my veins

some ambition?

it will eat my intuition

wash this from me and you?

Leave a Reply