Subscribe   Submit Work   Log In


By DearBrutus, Banks, OR

I am from the painted walls
Whose sheens do chip with hate,
And I am from a people who arrive at love too late;
The tintinnabulation of our desecratoin swells
Until our ears, stained red with blood, are ringing like the bells.
A picture's worth a thousand words
A whisper's worth a few,
But whispers gone a thousandfold
Can make great fictions true

Share this article:

Share on Facebook   Share on Google+   Share on Twitter

Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this!