My last beer gets over,
the can hit’s the rotting floor.
My chair has become a bed,
and old Lovers become numbered memories,
playing out consecutively
a scene in my head
I feel all my glimmering stars have escaped,
but instead of recollecting them,
I tap on the whiskey,
and find myself back in this mind,
behind my own locked doors,
same empty house, dead pets crowd the hallways.
There’s an exit sign, but to walk this road
Like the guilt free,
You must judge the world,
start to finish.
They slap cheap make up on used philosophies,
and you speak their words in a secure way to
show me your heart.
I understand, but I see those old books only further adding
to the mix confusing you.
A shame:
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Wow what a line: They slap cheap make-up on used philosophies. Read mine - Time for Another - and - Indebted - Adeline