Sunday, August 2, 2009

Test mike, 123

Your hand in mine.
Your cold white hand.
Those slender fingers,

frightened,

lonely

Those fingers
Made promises of not letting go

Those fingers
Capable of lies

Promises.
Broken.
There's no me anywhere under your sun.

I'm just an umbrella you use on rainy days.

Should I have thrown away my heart
And not let you hold on to me

I should

Should I have make use of my head
And not let you have all of me

I should

Should I have employ self interest and walk away
And be happy

I should.

But then again,
Do I have to say this?

We are different after all.

So even if I want to, I can't.

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