Dark City Song
Half Confession, Half Exaggerated Nonsense
Streetlight lullabies,
Curbside infatuation,
Manifest lies,
Murder scene manifesto,
Cold steel and the damp pavement,
Witness this lament,
Another drunken revelry,
Turned implosive situation,
A moment dragged into an infinity of seconds,
All tied to a finite ending,
Yet one more serenade for a gutter slut,
Spiritual degradation as a form of martyrdom,
But tell me,
Where do YOUR saints come from,
Mine generate via suicide,
I worship all things wronged by gravity,
Fallen idols,
Fallen stars,
Fading memories of a time when life used to be,
Vibrant and bright,
But I traded opiates for the light
And now I light my candles,
To cook blackened spoons,
Sitting in this piss soaked alley,
Moaning love songs to the moon.
About the Creator
Word Smyth
I like to write. I never know where words will take me, or what discoveries I will make along the way. I've never shared my writing, it's very personal. Well, here is where I take the leap.
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