lucifersam666
Bluelight Crew
- Joined
- Aug 3, 2016
- Messages
- 365
American Dog Tick
This world; they make the world suffocated at the skin
Until the new world turns the old world into senselessness.
We are at the tail of the line and it was so nice
To finally meet you.
But at the end of the day, the eyes that hurt
From the new worlds blood.
Is it all really worth it?
The new world is all and the old world is gone.
For my mind is merely nothin'
For the old world left me jet lagged.
We shall go our different directions
To put new blood in our system.
I've never seen nerves so pushed,
The kind that screams at my existence.
You're pulling your hair out now,
A dog cursed amongst mange.
But we both know the difference; our differences.
What is my life but only a game?
The smell of spit rest sure upon my body
And we look the other way,
pretend it doesn't hurt
And then we are seconds away,
From doing it all over again.
* This poem is about your average tick that meets another upon a dog. They speak to one another in a philosophical dialect addressing the brief concerns of their insubstantial existence. Once they rest assured that their actions tend to be tentative, open to refutation, they go their separate ways only to do it all over again..Or is it?
This world; they make the world suffocated at the skin
Until the new world turns the old world into senselessness.
We are at the tail of the line and it was so nice
To finally meet you.
But at the end of the day, the eyes that hurt
From the new worlds blood.
Is it all really worth it?
The new world is all and the old world is gone.
For my mind is merely nothin'
For the old world left me jet lagged.
We shall go our different directions
To put new blood in our system.
I've never seen nerves so pushed,
The kind that screams at my existence.
You're pulling your hair out now,
A dog cursed amongst mange.
But we both know the difference; our differences.
What is my life but only a game?
The smell of spit rest sure upon my body
And we look the other way,
pretend it doesn't hurt
And then we are seconds away,
From doing it all over again.
* This poem is about your average tick that meets another upon a dog. They speak to one another in a philosophical dialect addressing the brief concerns of their insubstantial existence. Once they rest assured that their actions tend to be tentative, open to refutation, they go their separate ways only to do it all over again..Or is it?
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I always enjoy your positivity.