I'm taking in old air, the kind of air that's filled with a year's worth of dust being thrown from a fan blade. I'm the big bad wolf lookin' for a reason to blow a house down. I'm huffing and puffing, but my lungs are filling with dirty cotton particles and dead skin from the clothes and bodies of my family. It turns into a hacking...hacking...hacking until it snuffs me out. Subdued on the guest bed, because my old room is just too full of those nights I was left alone to think about what I had done. Everyday dreamers die, or, maybe they just go home and are looked upon by their mothers as if they never left.
Monday, July 30, 2012
The Wolf (poem)
The Wolf
I'm taking in old air, the kind of air that's filled with a year's worth of dust being thrown from a fan blade. I'm the big bad wolf lookin' for a reason to blow a house down. I'm huffing and puffing, but my lungs are filling with dirty cotton particles and dead skin from the clothes and bodies of my family. It turns into a hacking...hacking...hacking until it snuffs me out. Subdued on the guest bed, because my old room is just too full of those nights I was left alone to think about what I had done. Everyday dreamers die, or, maybe they just go home and are looked upon by their mothers as if they never left.
I'm taking in old air, the kind of air that's filled with a year's worth of dust being thrown from a fan blade. I'm the big bad wolf lookin' for a reason to blow a house down. I'm huffing and puffing, but my lungs are filling with dirty cotton particles and dead skin from the clothes and bodies of my family. It turns into a hacking...hacking...hacking until it snuffs me out. Subdued on the guest bed, because my old room is just too full of those nights I was left alone to think about what I had done. Everyday dreamers die, or, maybe they just go home and are looked upon by their mothers as if they never left.
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