Glass Skins and T.S. Eliot
This is the way the world ends.
This is the way my idol
Not with a bang, not with a whimper, but with a
Of a switch. And you are
Scum shining off a grime covered face.
Turning my head from the
I could not before,
Swing a fist, you echo and
Hollow, and I the Stuffed.
Now I am hollow,
To match; stolen dry nothing, I
The full feeling, but
Can no longer stomach the Taste.