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Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Palindrome

Dry.
I am a cracked painting, brushed with grief.
Between my eyes there's a frown.
My retinas feel ready to crack open.
What have I done?
What have I seen?
There's nowhere left to lean
And no strength left to run.
At the edge of the crevasse, I tossed every rope in.
And with no direction left but down,
To fall would be relief.
Cry.

2 comments:

  1. I like "I am a cracked painting, brushed with grief".

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  2. Yeah, I felt really good about that line. I'm glad you liked it :)

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