o king o king salvation brings
which king is he the one to salvage me
would you hold my hand?
just beg steal and borrow and call me on the phone because I am
As I know I am no longer breathing I am
No longer counting
Years and years it took to decipher your anger I am
Gone to the color of the circle of the word
Ive become the boy with the coin I am
Reaching for the dress I am
Lips red as in the letter in mother that strikes and kills again
and again
and again
Poetry by Lourdes
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Written on 2007-10-19 at 14:49
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