Tales of a Secret Rockstar
I'm so bored of little gods, while I'm standing on the edge of something large, while I'm standing here so close to You . . .Friday, September 19, 2008
That Sound you hear is the Tooting of my own Horn
This is a day for wasting time.
Sitting on the couch,
curled up in a ball;
it's a day for wasting time.
Some days drift by
like snow outside your window.
They melt into memory
before they hit the ground.
Those are days for wasting time.
I miss writing poems. I love the last three lines of that one. Apparently though, my creativity is best served writing silly things. I wonder if it will always be like that.
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