©2022 Michael Raven
it might be time time time (what has become of--) to let sleeping dogs die wrap myself in woolen ennui close tired eyes and embrace disconnected dystopic dysthymia dragging stones behind my spirit suspicious eyes cut to death with a thousand knives in grey nights an afterglow of city lights polluting my black skies i wraith over myrk rivers a ghoul painted in clownface lies
sceadugenga 