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Great Writing - Home > Poetry > I Slit My Brains
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Poetry
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| I Slit My Brains | |
| By andybyers | ||||
| 01 August 2007 | ||||
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Kind of followed this one where it led. It happens that way sometimes. The house has almost finished painting me on the inside and good, because I have lost all skills to live in the forest Nothing grows in me now A rare thing walks into sight, the tin him that in truth much respects you. Given a siphon to lower the smoke, he grows bored with my confessions: Nothing grows in me now I'm not invited to the wedding That neither fails me, nor do I deserve it It's just knowledge I manage, a brilliant product, a week of concerns never boxed, sent, presented A good day is decided at high levels, designed in the absence of thought, bequeathed in ignorance The trees close ranks Nothing grows in me now.
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