Tuesday, January 01, 2008

Just. business

You ran away with my wings.
You carried them on your bareback all the way to the slaughterhouse.
Just like the souls you never accepted as true.

You were certain they couldn't feel.
I’m convinced you can't.

Jerk.

Your:
definition;
Fill in the blank.

Though it will never be complete.
You are blank.

I don't grasp who you are.
Almost certain your me.
Perhaps not the foundation of it all.
but now..I'm holding you accountable.

Blame.

Ugly freakin' commerce.
I should stop.
But you gave me my license too.

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