We spent nights in graveyards
Looking for stones that held are names
She pissed in bushes
I on trees
This was the escape from television
The exile from audio
Numbness
On whatever chemical
Blindness
On the world and it’s demands
3 in the morning by neon lights
Buildings she wished were home
Exposing music to ourselves
I thought I knew
The radio began to break up
The sky was our pavement
Worn youth
Too tired than time allowed
Free from our shells
Fast quick takes it’s toll
Bonds like gold, eyes like skies
It flew away like the cosmos
One day it was cut off
No proper “Goodbyes”
Columbus Square onto Thayer
Smooth the jagged edges again
Drove the ocean state
Past where we used to live
Bold and ignorant, dumb and brave
Close to new memories
The rain was warm in September
Like the sky spelling her name
Too young to feel anything afraid
I’ll never see you again
Miranda the moon
I keep these times close
So near it opens my skin
On less than perfect days
There’s no escaping this
The reoccurring theme
There’s no return to shelter
No revival in Cranston
© 2008 chrome arctic
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Printed from www.DarkPoetry.com/dp/16799/112970 on Thursday December 04th, 2008 06:03 PM
Certain elements © 1996-2008 Matthew Steven (matts.org)
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