Thursday, December 8, 2016

ode to my punk rock queen

I've been told before life doesn't get easier,
couldn't understand and never bothered cracking the meaning,
the script continues, playing itself out
to late nights, drugs, booze and spilling soul
until it the haze and static clears and no one is left,
there's no scene to accompany my madness,
all things go the way of the wind
and we're left with nothing but the characters of ourselves,
where the most paper-thin parts of a personality
are louder than the noise we make,
discs forever locked within jeweled cases
forcing us to stare at the cover,
messages diluted in the stream of time
collected and bottled to be sold back to you
making any point you've ever made futile

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