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Tattered

Music Dragon

Doosic Maggon
Pronoun
she
I picture her in that very same tattered dress
The pale yellow one, riddled with tiny holes, like a colander
Shrouded in streetlight glow she looks like a dying star in an empty universe
I remember the leers and jeers of snotty brats with spotty faces
And I remember our mutual desire to flee the world, to take to the stars
To find a small planet to settle down on
I could build the robots and she could plant the trees
And I could grind the clockwork, fry the circuits, smash the machinery
When I realize it's just me, she's long since gone, or she was never there
And come death, I'd be all wires and buttons and gears
And I'd be riddled with holes
Like a colander
Like that yellow old thing...
 
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