Roughly as poetic as a bag of smashed arseholes.







Scribble back.


Monday, 6 December 2010

312. Crux

I am occasionally filled with loss
When I look upon those crossed
On the shade road to what could have been
One, two, three – more than I could dream
Each one with potential to be something beautiful
Each one no longer that important to me
One, two, three – you are the crux, the cream
The majesty I preserve in memory
You dream and wake with me eternally


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