2001-08-13, 10:04 p.m.,

I was thinking of this poem i wrote years ago for her, i could stop thinking about that night in the car today on my drive home:


There's a perfectness that rests

just below your translucent skin

emerging slightly under a curtain of sunlight

or thunderstorms haze.

I awoke to you sitting there

across the room on the floor

back to the wall, eyes closed

flesh covered in chills

violently rubbing your calves

with your kness pressed tightly to your chest.

Your heart fighting to get out of the ribcage

that held it prisoner.

I pushed back the strands of dyed black hair

saturated in sweat and tears,

and my words couldnt find their way out

and i sat in front of you

fingertips resting at the base of your neck

as you cried silently.

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- - 2007-06-08
My absenteeism - 2007-05-24
Defining Yourself - 2007-03-19
odd sort of flatness - 2007-03-06
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