Thursday, September 20, 2012

Greasygrind.

I can taste metal
For the briefest of times
The brain fluid case is light as air
For the briefest of moments
I don't even care
Just like a solid knock to the head
Being winded is just like that

But no one's taken to my skull this time
A flick to the left
And a neckline angle that doesn't quite rhyme
The air gets in through synaptic cleft

Being winded is just like this
I breathe in too heavy
I turn the wrong way
Knocking my right mind
Straight of left field

And citric metals seep into my tongue

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