"But there are lots like us, with no grave but the stage."

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

two for flinching.

scenes flashing into fading images
stopped frozen in a running car at a crossroad
send me on my way

a clean conscience will cleanse the hands
my lips are sore from pacing but my thoughts clear

burning eyes light up the night
like drunken fireflies in flight

sleep it off just to reignite

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