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My name is Davey
Davey boy Green
On Mondays I sleep
On Tuesdays I eat
Wednesdays I scuttle around lost and beat
On Thursdays I listen to Skip James
Friday is fish
Saturday is for remembering
On Sundays I often hear the sound of broken glass being chewed in Church. Followed by the swallows of bleeding guilt.
Not every week though.
my homage to life
write this on my tomb
“In truth we strengthen
In beauty we bloom.”
Is Hell but where we are at & Heaven but where we can be? Is this just a waiting game, a train station waiting room?
As this world spins and I visit a million points in space each day, do I eventually inhale the air you exhaled, thousands of miles away?
I like the genre of one and I wish I could be like David Watts
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