a shelter in a shell
a shell's a living hell
when a home becomes a prison
your hell is now a cell
when I know I have a back bone I'm more inclined to slouch
ever moving slowly
creeping slow into a crawl
the slime still far behind you.
to leave and still be a slug
in a garden infested with bugs.
I wish I could move
at a rate to improve
my life around leaches and grubs
apples that fall from above
never grow up and be free.
and seldom grow up to be trees
for when they are consumed
they're digested (entombed)
into excremental brown doves
No comments:
Post a Comment