Sunday, September 12, 2010


My fingertips are bruised
And my forearms are black and blue
I strain my ears to hear your voice
Raspy yet crisp
Like the day old bread we ate
Or the time we stared at that tree
I like you more than that
Looking and vying
Running towards the back
Of someone we both
Somehow admired
But nobody is perfect
No one’s the same
A good excuse
Never did me any good
More than anything
That staple in my life
Will always be you

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