The beautiful people
The sun is rising high.Dead calm.
The beautiful people that I meet
are not my friends but still they smile at me.
They are everywhere, surrounding me.
A limb falls from a tree,
and the part of me
that belongs to the beautiful people
are shattered by it's weight.
Beauty is not for me.
Poetry by Daybreaker
Read 438 times
Written on 2005-11-23 at 22:32
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