Perspectives
by Me
There is a sound of the slipping away.
A sound like
doing a sinkful of rotting dishes
with a queezy hungover stomach
all cottage cheese, tea-bag, and eggs
the potent smell of which
seems to infect and violate
your ears.
I can be deafening, I Know.
or sometimes, the smell of
time-gone-by
will flood the room, while you try to sleep
The odor of which is so pungeant
like the worlds most miserable woman,
as well as the wealthiest.
Alone on the floor in her tower of gold
banging her head on marble floors
because
She.Just.Isn't.Happy.
No matter how much she has.
And the Guilt of the World yawns.
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