the stars, the sea, and sleep.

Friday, August 13, 2010

Fill The Hole To Reanimate

To get so close as to touch
Is to run trust under unfiltered water.
Sickness is the willingness to be immune
But the sick can turn you wicked all to soon,
And light the match right under you.
Yell at me and get sloppy when you do,
Put the end on repeat and
Tuck the rest away in a filing box
To collect the dust of maturity,
Slowly burning in the attic
Where I keep all my impurities.

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