Your words are like swords
With glinting, jeweled handles.
A crystal blade, free of flaws
To stab through my body.
Your own personal pin cushion.
These scars I show and
The stories I tell
Are nothing.
The truth is the worst possible thing
To tell anyone who wants you.
Because they'll forget about it
And remember it at the most inconvenient times.
Monday, March 9, 2009
March 5th, 2009
Poem by Anonymous at 1:02 AM
Labels: photography, poem, relationships
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1 comments:
i really like the last paragraph. it stuck with me.
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