Pieces, falling away.
Black tinsel regatta
taints the taste of day.
My wish, a spoon
in the beholder's eye...
I remember believing
in reasons to cry.
Life, the puppet show
hiding our unkept nails
and calloused palms
dissipates...
I breathe in.
Gray questions
mark the checklists
Stapled to my heart.
Perfect smiles.
What else is a heart
than a finely tuned drum
of crimson tone
waiting to be played?
Even when alone
it can still be hurt.
So I've heard.
I plunge to rosy knees,
hoping promises can be more
than strawberries
touched by velvet knuckles.
I pace along these walls,
a blind man,
searching for your voice...
-Svw



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