Sunday Drive, by Loneliness is condescending
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I left you sleeping in a white chalk outline
Head rested on asphalt pillows
Sweetly covered in star embroidered cloth
Never had you looked so beautiful
With moon kissed cheeks
Flashing sirens to sing your lullaby
Hidden securely in a clutter room to match your mind
Comforted by the security of the darkened eye
In hopes that the silence will break
The bright lights shoving you farther behind the screen
To a stone cheek the final kiss is given
And buried with your innocence
A racing heart loosing pace
To far back to be seen
Harsh whispers rise above the prayer
I know they speak of me
The crunching of the dirt reminds me of the past
How fast could I go?
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Posted: 2005-10-14 01:34:08 UTC |
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2005-10-19 17:27:10 | Sandwich Massacre |
i lost myself in that poem. its a nine. its simply a nine. |