you got a murder machine for a body
and it's not your fault
as much as I like trying to tape the pieces
back together, you and I---
we can never go back to a place
locked out of time
when the flowers don't die
as we grow them
and when the trees are clothed
in their slender, leafy dresses
dancing in the innocence of wind
and the grounds are ladled with snow
loneliness, the sorrow inescapable
you and I will never go back
to that part of us again
YOU ARE READING
bang bang!
Poetryyou know what would be more cool than a blank white cover with text on it? a blank white cover with a toy pistol on it, of course!
