What if I stopped blaming myself?
I’ll wear my words, my compromised mind
maybe mingle with the stars.
Speak the smoke that spills, sugar,
falling into the sea.
The whites of my eyes are screaming
hello, I am.
Panicking.
Can I be the hole in your head?
I guess this is misery
but I’m feeling just fine.
I was wrong my friendly fire,
we stand on borrowed legs.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
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