I think my imagination is busted…
drinking with the dead
at the fictional coffee house in your head
feeling footsteps behind you
perhaps it’s someone you know
you imagine she will reach out
touch you on the shoulder
to get your attention
so you look away
and brace yourself for a touch that never comes
you don’t even notice
that the footsteps have long since faded into the distance
but it’s nothing cocaine and yoga can’t fix
…yep, it’s busted alright
I like your poetry, feed me more.
I never post on your journal for a variety of reasons, but I really couldn’t pass this up.
Beef. Stew.
You sir, are the man.
Now perhaps, you could elaborate on the variety of reasons you don’t post in my journal?
Well, in all honesty, two main reasons.
1 – I’m not convinced that you really ‘like’ me. Not that I’m fishin’ for DavidWraith approval in my life… just not sure you really want me postin’ up your journal.
2 – My comments, in the past, have been used as fodder for other people’s amusement in thier LJs. While I understand why it happens, its really just one more crappy thing that I really don’t need in my life. So now I try to keep a low profile, as to not feed into it.
I lurk here quite a bit, in Dragas too. For what it is worth I find your life, or at least how your life is presented here, quite interesting.
Hey, I think we all know that DavidWraith hates me, but I’m constantly posting here.
–AC