Thursday, 29 April 2010


Youth is a sweeping-statement
After sweeping-statement mistake.

Promises are powerless,
Futures, absurd.

A sleeplessness made me
Forget you.


Often times I pull at the memory of you
And rope up buckets of ocean water.

I am the sand archived in your holiday-read,
I am a fireplace in the commonplace of your summer.
I am the sand in the dining room, backseat of the car, mother's toes,
I am unbent heat, kissed.

Beg for this,

Must I?

If this world is a brief ugliness,
I want to stretch out, fuck, fall.

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