Monday, July 07, 2008

yr face caked in make up
and teeth glistening from
the house lights,
clenched over this
moment's cigarette, and
laughing at explosions
in the distance

I can see your eyes tear
from the wind
running down the coast
the edge
cutting at you
and the needle pinned

and in the end it all seemed
so tragic, you as poor doomed
Ophelia, drowning in grief
over an American dream
gone mad

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