Walking down long roads with small feet. Cold winters wither these warm feet into weak shivers,
each week gives us more yeast. as we rise through the crude heat.

My whole life is a strange winter. 

Strange as mistltoes under missle drones of terror 
Tamed by displeasure.
Taught my disapproval
As strange as this weather
Caught and disillusioned.

But who's to disprove this
Who's say who's right
Who knows better
Isit he who made life
Isit he who made ice out of what he was given
Is it he who made art 
Decisions Decisions Decisions 

Question Mark

2 thoughts on “?

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s