Tuesday, October 14, 2008

Flies.

Hey, it's you.

It's me.

It's the distant us.

It's the long, sad days that leave us at once
glad to be free
and distraught that it's me
not you
that's left here to write
a single thought
about how life should be different
if everyone just forgot
or remembered
that...

wait

my voice has long since lost its wisdom

murdered by actions
that a good man would shun

I'm a tsk

a sigh

a fucking goodbye
then years from now you might wonder why,
you thought -
he's worth a tear, I'll sit and I'll cry
before coming
to the conclusion that I ain't but a sty
with a pig for a heart
and the talent
to fly
but a soul that won't
try
and will most likely die

thinking of you.

********

And there's always more.

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