Sunday, March 28, 2010
Sunken blue, white collar stood in whisper. The lonely girl buried in hungry pages cry for the luxuries of youth. She stands for five and sleeps for none, carried these books like a loaded gun. She fled to the city where the west was won, laid on the floor where the east had gone. Ancient ways are for the dead, customs should be broken. But where the tide meets the shore, her pages were lost in translation.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Thursday, January 21, 2010
I put your mark on my arm to remind me of the source. The prejudice you carried spread like a swarm of locus. It consumed all that was pure and left nothing but skeletons. Your bleeding hands pulled me towards you and stained my essence. So now I were your mark like a scar to remind me that I'm not bound by hate. And that the path I choose will be from a brighter source.