Tuesday, December 11, 2012


Maybe I'm a bird who's wings were clipped and can no longer fly,
I watch, as I twitter along the floor,
Wishing for the sky

I once flew into wisps,
White,floating candy floss
Breathed the freshest air
Free from pollutants

And now these things
Are all my lungs breathe
And with each breath
The harder it is to

So clip my wings and tell me

"Fly, Nevermore"

And tell me
Your paralysis,
Does it cripple you,
Like you want it to?
And is not a broken heart
A flesh wound, like the rest?
I tell you, I'd rather have been shot
But Love has not a bullet proof vest.
But a suicide in cyanide waiting to
Give the man your writing hand
And tell him to
stick it in you.
So you do it out of love
And you regret it out of hate
And you realize all of this,
Just a little too late.
As he looks in another's eyes
And thinks the same thoughts you could
But not with you.
With another.

And so forever alone, crippled,

Your aching heart should be.

[[what is the point of dying??]]

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