Thursday, September 10, 2009

tell him something pretty

Sometimes I see you
crawling
around in my dreams
but you never say anything
not like you do when I see you
on the street,
when your mind is an endless
stream you have to let me know about
and you've burned so many bridges
that all you've got left are strangers
in the street
to cling to, to run to, 
to whisper quiet threats to.

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