Absinthe

It ain't me

That shadow of hatred and miscarried love, that red and veiny scar across my face, that slick patina of filth that covered the days is gone, is all gone but the foggy thoughts and gasps that rot and fester in the depths of the swamp that was, that is in the mind's eye.

And there you will see the reddish light, the sad decay of the flesh that was, the dying maggots praying for oblivion. And it is all but a morsel for the all consuming desert.

And the god of sand is deaf.

publicadas por Germán @ 1/19/2009 12:38:00 p.m.