|
On the lakebed I lay,
Where you buried me in clay.
My eyes swollen shut
At the core of the sorrow locked.
Chewed up, spat out and forgotten,
By cold torrents surrounded,
Fooled by the lying tides,
I fall, chasing butterflies.
Sunshine like knives can hurt you.
It can cut you, make you bleed.
If followed by hailstorm
It can bruise you, make you shriek.
Sprinkles of iced showers
Precipitating in the wrong hours.
Deluge of fire and sweat
Killing the dew of regret.
Fooled by the lying tides,
I fall, chasing butterflies.
Sunshine like knives can hurt you.
It can cut you, make you bleed.
If followed by hailstorm
It can bruise you, make you shriek.
|
|
