My daughter in pieces, in your good graces, found my name, and i wore a mans suit became.
How can i say, it was her and not me.
Slippery fit, it was I not it.
all swords follow, together and hollow.
No difference to note, except my tattooed throat.
Her story to tell in hell, how i wore a mans suit, and she fell.
Not one trace of me, she is vicarious being.
DRAFT
No comments:
Post a Comment