martes, 19 de febrero de 2013

Afternoon Delights

I will write you letters
that I'll never send,
saying that I am sorry
and will gladly let time
repeat itself.

I overhear myself, mainly
while maintaining a stiff position
as if I were to vomit 
And my pale skin looses color
and turns china-white,
Then I turn to the mirror, and oh! 
How I am this keen in sorrow?

No one ever replies. 
It's better that way.

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