Lonely field of bones
White like cuts of bleached sky
Crunch like potato chips. Dry-
Wash your hands in chalk dust
Taste the bite of memories
Rinsed away like never-flesh
These pale bands don't hold life
Just the stick-snap sound
Of passing on.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
I'm bad at vulnerability I like to tie off places Where mess might hide Might wander in to introduce themself Until I'm all kn...
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To slumber And not be tossed about Like an incomplete formula In the mind of a mathematician Is a good thing The solution Lies in reme...
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Shadow Simon says: somewhere along the way Shadow Simon says: you've lost sight of who you are Shadow Simon says: and you lost the words...
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She shares the blame For Adam's fall So secure, attractive Brilliant in a certain view The essence of Enlightenment I see her raise her ...
1 comment:
I really like this one. It's very different.
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