Tuesday, October 28, 2014

It's me, not you

Breakwater types 
 that men like to hold on to,
dress in envelopes
 and send to whosoever will read them,

thoughts are like 
 lacerating muscles
unveiled to look 
  their nightly best

but because night rises
 and dusts itself 
after it falls, and not
 because their is the relative

evil, as there is poetry
 in a lot of unspecified space
because it simply allows
 it, to be me rather than you.

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