That I seem to be talking to myself
More often than not
Is it because the only face I will ever again see
Are those smilies I trace into the ground
To antagonize that worn old face of me
And, as I prattle to the uncaring wind
Which whistles tunelessly, mockingly
I realize that no one else minds
I got to admit
This place really is
The Pits
No comments:
Post a Comment