Untitled
What am I doing here?
My head and neck hurt so fucking bad.
My heart pounds my chest sore.
And my face slides into my hands.
Behind this screen I hide in pain
and pretend to have a purpose
while the world outside looks hazy and hot
The air: undoubtedly thick.
Three hours left . . . .
The sun will be setting as I walk out.
I picture it immense on the horizon
a deep bright orange orb
sinking
the radio blasting
“Cashmere”
as I drive home.
`
My head and neck hurt so fucking bad.
My heart pounds my chest sore.
And my face slides into my hands.
Behind this screen I hide in pain
and pretend to have a purpose
while the world outside looks hazy and hot
The air: undoubtedly thick.
Three hours left . . . .
The sun will be setting as I walk out.
I picture it immense on the horizon
a deep bright orange orb
sinking
the radio blasting
“Cashmere”
as I drive home.
`
Labels: whiney work poem
posted by Sir James Eric Watkins at 6:48 PM
2 Comments:
Hmmn, Cashmere? It is gently playing in my memory now...
Body slam, high five, titty touch, and a belly bump...
Um, we came by to tag team ya, but from the looks of things I think you may need a hugaroonie from your greatest fans. So, consider yourself tag team hugged!
love and stuff,
B and L
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