Tomorrow will be the day of the lowly
The heart of the wickedly ruthless and cold
Their eyes will visage to the loveless and faceless
And their void will drain out the precariously bold.
Tomorrow will be made to survive but to sunset
To darkness, past toasts, dead with listless bland smiles
When endorphins cloud over my body and synapse
So your lethargic cold shrugs can uphold in their trials.
Tomorrow will be your own day, my old darling,
When Skittles and Coke will be ode to your fall
To remember ethereal mishaps that reshaped us
And forgive what pollution infected your soul. |
Submission Name: London
