Saturday, January 17, 2009

without

the flesh torn from your limbs,
the hair ripped from your scalp;
this is how it's turning out.
a damp rag to wipe the blood from your face,
a dear friend to tie your loose lace;
how did we end up in this place ?
i dont know what to believe,
as i take shards of glass out your sleeve.
what happened here ?

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