Litkicks Message Board Archive


Posted to Action Poetry

When we are one of the few
not to stand on the queue
not to fall from the roof
we believe we are not here
in this horrible sphere
we pretend to be clear
and we clean our own tears
Should we,
make him laugh?
make him cry?
make him feel our own empty
poison my mind, poison my heart
posion whatever I have inside
Clear the sky, I am going high...