Slight Rush

Nicco

 

 

That powder looks like pixie dust
Whiskey makes my knife thrust
That swollen face has me hushed
Your very existence infects me

Inside my head is oddly strange 
In my thoughts, you are in chains
Pathetic, waiting, to be slowly slain
Your pride forever unsatisfied

My little fingers get a better grip
Betwixt one razors edge and mine
Calm and chaotic perfectly aligned
Deafening quiet screaming silence

  • Author: Nico (Pseudonym) (Offline Offline)
  • Published: July 8th, 2018 04:26
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 9
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Comments +

Comments1

  • kevin browne

    Beautifully written, my friend. Easy to read, but deep meanings inside. I like your work here. Nicely placed.

    • Nicco

      Much appreciated! Thank you.

      • kevin browne

        Very welcome.



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