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Home Tired feet,Home by ~Courtesan-of-Song
empty streets;
trying to meet myself in a starless night.
Getting older,
it's not getting colder.
Someone bolder, but not quite right.
Clouded head,
Needle and thread
can't stitch the wings back onto my old coat this time
Waiting for another bottle of counterfeit happiness
to help me cry again.
Same old room,
without the same old routine.
This house is dark, but the solitude is blinding.
A song on my lips,
a tiny chip on my shoulder.
Eyes that smoulder, trap their wearer, and force her into another corner.
Fraying at the ends,
Funny how the past tends
to taste so bitter when it kicks you in the face.
Wait
Old Friends Where am I now?Old Friends by ~Courtesan-of-Song
I'll give you a hint: you've been here before,
but now you're not,
and there's nothing you
or that fancy new coat of yours
can do about it.
Big black buttons
don't mean that you're a big boy now.
You'll get there when you discover the world
outside your parents' pocketbook.
And you,
looking at me with those autocratic eyes,
wondering how I degenerated
to such a pathetic little deviant,
apparently content to waste my time
with the base pleasures of life,
while you boldly and defiantly endure
being the piece of old gum stuck to the heel
of post-secondary education's flashy manolos.
I had
Sta.sh
--
Daydreams of the lost and found.
For More.
--
Daydreams of the lost and found.
For More.
--
As my last day unfolgs and the hands turn numb and cold...
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