|
You can spend you afternoons
curled up in a ball,
Or you can run a mile.
It won't change much for me,
cause I'll be gone for a long while.
No need to rush things,
because they have not been found.
Still sleeping in their stillness of the ground.
My insides are like a volcano,
boiling up something good.
When I'll get the nerve to shut it down,
I'll just be misunderstood.
Everything is tangled up there,
with a thick grey fog.
When thoughts of you scatter,
oh what a disaster.
 hina-25 · Thu Dec 18, 2008 @ 12:58am · 0 Comments |
