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Fleeting


Miseria

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Gears turning clicking in place, 

I wish not to be a cog.

 

Disgust written upon my face,

These tears begin to fog,

 

Everything in my eyes,

A shadow cases its doubt.

 

To be without truths or lies,

For it is never seen without.

 

For as long as I have been alive,

Always amongst the strange.

 

No longer found around the hive,

These wreak arms have no range.

 

Eyes closed to a goal

I may never see

 

Buried deep within a hole

Lies everything that is me.

 

Could I lend you a pick?

And we can dig together

 

No need to need to be quick

Lets be of the feather?

 

Or shall I take the bucket?

And curse upon the wind

 

Should I say f*** it

And seal the hole again?

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