Saturday, 13 September 2008


I was spinning dreams on a wheel
When a butterfly crashed
On a glass
Beating its last wings.

Then the powder rose
And fell like dust
Over the tint, after which
A sound was heard below a din

And as the candle flickered to show us the way,
We let some wax
Run down our chin.

Familiar song?

They hurt
They sting
They burn
The shards that remain
As you come and fall around me
Tell me you wish for this to end.

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