Friday, 12 October 2012

I love this.

If the boy who draws

lets you look over his shoulder.

If the poet 


and shows you her words.

If the girl who sings for the shower only

hums a song

in front of you.

Know that you're no longer a person

but the air 

and dust

that fills their lungs.

When the world perishes,

and all things cease to exist,

you'll remain inside an ink stain,

a paint brush,

a song.

- Alaska Gold