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Contributed by assassinatorgirl on Tuesday, 28th November 2006 @ 09:52:14 PM in AEST
Topic: ambiguous



With the prisms that surround,
All we heard is dying down.

Clairvoyance so weak you cannot see your hand,
Dream, escape, into your fairy land.

Moition restricts us from moving,
The harshest cries are soothing,
Technology's a dip in intellect.
Nothing's gained as we collect.

Our circuit's going out.
Our hate turns to a pout.
Intensity leaves a sharp decline.
A dip that delves- a blatant sign.

The end arrives with luscious lips,
Time to hand over the computer chips.



Copyright © assassinatorgirl ... [ 2006-11-28 21:52:14]
(Date/Time posted on site)





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