a broken bone, stress rustling thin.
But you slide against the wind,
incurious, woebegone within.
For they ascertain, in disquietude,
a prelude, as you'd be left to rue.
Now lets simmer away, all choler and ire,
an entire mire inculpating them.
Even then, isn't to err only human?
Aren't we betoken to railroad and win?
Or do we delicately surrender?
To them, for them to make the most of it...
No comments:
Post a Comment