You give me a fistful pain,i shall sell you some dreams;
dreams in red, blue, green. which one you need, dear soul?
Friday, December 23, 2011
reverberation
It's "how" that always
succumbs to a "why".
Renegade "me",
pricked, mended and crystallized
by the satiny shaved solitude
slumbers over the palliasse
of an eternal "You"-ness.
love, prosified.
Sigh!
"You" impaled a lifeless "me".
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