Wouldn’t You?

Posted: May 9, 2013 in Poetry
Tags: ,

She doesn’t even think of me

Yet, she still steals the themes of dreams

She said that my hand on her face

Was like an axe buried in flesh

So I suppose that makes us square

Because these memories of you

Constantly cleave my heart in two

Self-inflicted; slow/sharp razors

Deep enough to forever know

Never to regain beautiful

Innocent child withers inside

Why not give beauty one more try?

Not much time before life is through

& if I did why would not you?

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