‘Swinging Through My Own Entrails'


I have no hope of ever getting on top of myself
Because I'll never be able to face my predicament

So I'm swinging through my own entrails;
Cringing from my life's squalid details
Once again

I stand no chance of standing for anything else
Other than birth, half-life and death

Oh, I'm swinging through my own entrails;
Skidding on the thousands of veils
I have drawn over my own fucking mess.

 

© M.A.Tovey 2008

 

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