Beauty in a shell,
hell
might as well
dive into the wishing well.
Life's a sell.
Theifs and cuthroats,
lover's and kisses;
looking into the sky,
wondering, who will miss this?
It exists, this
blister on the inside of a dream.
What's this,
this tearing at my seams?
Who's this,
this image I see
looking back through the hourglass,
so young and carefree?
Little but rivers now,
dead memories lie,
and as a little red feather floats on,
watch as the stars in your eyes die.
Not quite in the casket,
but I haven't quite lived yet,
so off the deep divide I free fall,
with lust and envy
as my chained and hungry pet.
