Misplacer Fiend

Bring your paints and your duct tape.

Wednesday, February 19, 2014

Waste of Space

I would rather feel
The Earth on my skin
The hot beating heart
Of iron within
It crushes the skull
The crust of the land
Churns frothing seas
While shifting the sands

I would rather think
That all is alive
Compressing and spinning
The pulp of our lives
Because after all
We can't be alone
Wheeling through space
On a rock we call home

-HM

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