Friday, 12 October 2012

I love this.

If the boy who draws

lets you look over his shoulder.


If the poet 


smiles


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