dreamstocks and broken heartaches.
it makes us human.
is what she whispered- into my ear.
as I put the gun to her head.
bang.
we're a little shattered.
and a little mesmorized. her eyes.
good god. her eyes.
her tears.
and in the end, I'm good for nothing.
and words can be daggers
but they're throwing bullets- and we're left hiding.
under the sun starched skies.
left with starless goodbyes. goodnights.
goodlifes.
and fireflies.
is what they'd rip from this ignorance.
bliss is in the eye of the neglector.
tipsy and misguided. to sweet disdain
and this liquid harmony.
I'm metaphor. past.
now. kiss me.
in sweet spite.
© 2005 Six-Out
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Printed from www.DarkPoetry.com/dp/98/74649 on Saturday November 22nd, 2008 11:30 AM
Certain elements © 1996-2008 Matthew Steven (matts.org)
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