Tuesday, January 05, 2010

The friends you tried to make away with have died.

I think maybe it's time
to think about the weather
All the things we shared before
All the times we spent together
Skewer my hopes for no tomorrow
Selectively poison my mind when

I try to sew my eyes closed
Needle meet thread
Thread meet needle
shake hands
I'll go to bed to night
and sleep into a dreamless dream

I'm dreading tomorrow
Mummy I have a paper cut
Slit myself up on the pages of the black book
that tells me where, when and why I'd die
My blood flows through the mighty river
crevices of paper that makes my bones run

dry.


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