http://www.thelovecolumn.com/
No Son No Moon
Self absorbed enveloped by the corona
Emaciated with a lacquer based aroma
The time to doze is the opposite
Of the dose I really need
Minutes are the composite
Of this empty life I lead
Writing’s always running
Hand in hand with THC
Observations crystallized
With each strike of a key
Hope looms in discounted fate
Readied for the payoff
While atrophying in the wait
Omission of digression
Is the mirror I’m in need of
No foray to interfere
But to see what I’m in fear of
Its funny how being jaded
Can make you so elated
Weaving words together
You‘ve verbally masturbated
No fight No fuck No hold No fear
No smoking on the roof
The tune you strain to hear
Is interwoven with truth
And the distant drum
That beats for you
Is all you really have
And the panting in the background
Is what keeps her alive.
jsko=johnnysocko
