Sunday, March 29, 2009

The Old Man

I am the cancer
That creeps
With sickly green fingers
And teeth
I am the shadows
Behind closed eyelids
I am the whispers
When nobody hears
I am you
When the coast is clear

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After a busy day when confronting admin

 We must all come  Find ourselves And we will all be found Regardless  As the sun finds the morning As breath finds the lungs As I am found ...