Disconnected
By steve_j_1985
Wed, 07 Jun 2006
- 619 reads
Write the sun out of this landscape,
(Of dry and arid eyes,
And hearts beating empty,
In chests of brittle bone,
Where two figures sit,
Never saying a word)
So as the stars may appear,
And one will reach out a
Decaying hand,
And touch the other's lank black hair,
The closest to love they ever were.
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