Gord

2026-08-11 04:41 am

I wish I could just kill the truth,
Silver over tongue, under roof, 
Into the groove, into the wound,
Alchohol of distant, citrus fruits.

Oh, and I still love you,
But that too, turns to abuse,
Then silence fills a room. 

What have I been up to?
I wish I could tell you the truth,
Simple over tongue, under roof,
I still love you, but I'm one of two,
Easier said than lived through.

Like I learned to fly long ago,
Send me away, given wings, 
I need not of this world.

Gord

2026-08-10 12:51 pm

Final arrangement of words,
I am managing, without you,
Despite how badly it hurts.

Style, abasement of yours, 
Love songs only in word.

Like wood, farmed for the pulp.