Monday, January 8, 2007
It was my walls he couldn't stand a constant builder the evidence concrete beneath my finger nails the wall rose with each neglect so that the sun rested easily the days would part without much expectation but my walls could not would not crumble under his destruction of love Sign in to see full entry.
posted by MiaElla at 5:58 AM Comments (4) (permalink)
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Warm, Organic Poetry