So go.

All directions
I won’t go

Only leave me feeling low

There’s no reason
This I know

So go.

The relative magnitude
Of two souls
Name it math or ratio

Lost all feeling in my toe

So go.

Not above
Not below

Every city’s
Just as cold

You will never
Call me old

Maybe die
Before it’s told

Speak the phrase
Then lose your tongue
You’ll lose your tongue

Got a knife
Just bought a gun
Took some poison
Clearing out my lung

Guess it’s time
To have some fun
I’m no longer growing numb

Understand new war begun
Stick around
And watch who won

Take the blade
Peel back the blue
Nothing else
We can do

Tell the establishment
I hate you

Slash my name across your tongue
Drop a book on all you’ve done

You claim small
I swear metric ton

I’d say everything is golden
Got a deck of cards
But what you holding?

See clear through the mask
So why you folding?

Clean Bull’s-eye
Write your omen
Your name ain’t Odin

I bet you’re molten
Liquid sin
You’re getting old then

Still never chosen
I hope you’re golden

© Delia Ross. 2022 / @poeeternal

I’m just a gal from the deep south; good ole GreenWood, Mississippi.

I have the blues buried in my soul.

Thank you for 100K visits to my blog! Incredible!

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