Untrue
The stereo's up at twenty
and I'm asking you again,
you say you don't know what and who
and where and why and when.
So I call up all your bullshit
and you're selling through the cord
to buy a silver tongue you can't afford.
You kick it all down smoothly,
the place turns ninety-degrees.
Everyone is going home
and you fall to your knees.
Count out-loud the floor boards
as you find, to your surprise,
that half your life is sick of all your lies.
While you're blasting out your music
with an amp placed to the floor,
dreaming of a stereotype
no one's ever seen before
your punctuation has no place here,
it all ends with dot, dot, dot.
Ellipses fill and dominate the plot.
Comments
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loved the flow of this and the story i got from it, especially the last line of each stanza, another great write from you man, nice nice xD
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