put down your weapon
my transient incidental
and look at me for once
the knife is in your hand-
I didn't see it
I think I'm dying
You took from me
the everything I gave...
my love, my soul
we were a beautiful mistake,
I guess that's all
But I keep looking
out this window
staring
at the trees that move
within the breeze
that's you
a stain, a scar
a beautiful tattoo
a fucked-up
kind of wonderful
that's me and you
our story's still being written
with pen that bleeds deceit
and it will run
until it's dry
and I become the beautiful,
fucked-up liar
that you are
3 comments:
O M G!
I'm not sure what I just read, but I fucking love it. The hair was standing up on my arms. And let me tell you, besides some of the greats, that just doesn't happen that often.
call?
:-) Thanks, James. Pretty strong, huh? Glad you liked. Um, yeah, around 4 pm your time tomorrow.
This is it!
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