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Post by Laura on Jan 25, 2006 7:08:54 GMT -6
grip is fairly loose on a twenty story cliff eyes painted a murder red and glazed think of ice cream cake and dancing and the things that made my lips widen it's halfway done if I'm ready to let go
drilling silence in a crowded room I'm awkward and uneven on the ledges slipping from velcro worn thin turning to a night sky for answers no one there to give
I'm havoc, chaos spiralling sharply turning with no brakes lips ghostly white and chapped letting go of the wheel, the edge, the cliff think of things like parasols on the way down
and if I had one, I could float grasp it firmly and call it a hero a mister without feelings or a name and I could land in the water and drift away
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Post by pweddygurl on Jan 27, 2006 22:48:33 GMT -6
thats really kewl!
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