Tuesday, June 19, 2007

Come III

In response to Ideasmithy's Telling All

Come here,
where the air whips up cigarette ash, the tattered moments fly out of windows in the sky, fluttering in the air till they vanish forever into nothingness, where every day someone leaves all that he ever had, everyone that she ever called her own.

Come here,
where days are fire balls of lost love.

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