Something tells me

Some say it’s demons. The real kind you exorcise. They’re in vogue now. Drugs won’t help. We are too far away from our souls. Why would a demon want little old me? But, something tells me to get that gutting knife. It’s why I wear long sleeves in the summer.



How vile, how foul you are to wreck this green peace with a donkey’s bray The sweet sigh of breeze shattered and mocked as you contest for the noblest obscenities and the basest of sentiments Yes, you, the loudest of voices makes me all the more quiet Waiting