Looking back there are holes
In the sky where you try to remember.
How her voices were fated to be late,
And trying a little bit harder
Everytime to trace the fainted echoes.
How I am not missed by your ghost–
My uttered horrow, when I came clear off the spiral
And see the seperate ways demarcate.
Singing downward the chorus of the muses,
Our dramatis personae is nowhere to be seen.
The frontier where they exchanged fire,
Making sentences we do not understand,
Sure our protaganist is lack in subject matter.
Thursday, 22 November 2007
Yes, me too wanted to talk,
and so I might not hear
what everybody else has to say.
That eternal buzzing sound,
still I am lazy to find out
what that noise is all about.
Already cause me a headache,
like a swift kick in the head
absolutely is not a bright way to start.
I stole some chocolate from the fridge
I don't know whose but it's bitter,
then decided to leave my cube.
The moon is low tonight
like how things revolve around
everyone, in the blogsphere.