City Lines

A Poem by ambur

Stop breathing, polluting my air.
Don't speak, poising my mind.
I might be damaged, but baby,
you are just a minor pathetic tear.

Quit making my thoughts askew.
Point your ignorance the other way.
I might be so misunderstood, yeah,
you are nothing worth to pursue.

Adjust your eyes, they're murder.
Soften your lips, they're minor keys.
I might be so much trouble, sweetheart,
you won't make it much more further.