So who's even talking?
Who's spoken of?
Does the glove even fit?
Are those wax candles lit?
Thousands of words,
None ever spoken.
No curse ever lifted.
No beast yet awoken.
It's a contradiction.
No,
It's a work of fiction.
I don't get his diction.
Where is the conviction?
I zip these lips to loosen yours,
I leave a crack to peep through doors,
I talk too loud so you can hear,
I stare you down so you can fear
That these words might be yours.
For all I know,
I talk to myself
To wipe down the shutters
And unclutter shelves.
And for now I'll say that it's all done me well,
Until these heavy words drag me straight down to hell.
No comments:
Post a Comment