avie-blake

In the last hour of this night, When the coffee's steam has, Breathed its last breath, and the cigarettes are dancing at the edge of darkness, We'll all stop on our journey to sit on dirt roads and look At each other, with something akin to loneliness. But if life is touch and go, then touch me like I'm God and run, from my dirt road, afraid of sanctity, Just make sure to leave the last cigarette with me. Because the coffee's gone and the door is swinging back and forth on rusty hinges. Not fully closed.

Regretfully, there is no cure, For a flower that's been, plucked for perverted consumption, There is no cure, regretfully, for her eyes, that flitter in eye- sockets. Rapidly, she breathes heavy sighs. There is, regretfully, no cure, For plucked flowers, or her, fluttery, terrified eyes. That are sharp with menace, when perverted consumption comes rapping at the door.

Mine I have something you don't, And I won't give you any of mine, Where I am, Where I get this thing isn't the other side of the tracks, Because the grass is the same on the other side, I'm outside the box in your mind, You're stuck somewhere, Locked in the depths of a white box, But I am not, I have something so great, So amazing, But no I won't tell you what it is, Because it's mine and you can't have it, It's mine and no I don't want to share, This thing it's so precious to me, That I had to step outside of the box, The safety, All I've ever known I had to step out, But you're still there, So NO, You don't deserve wha