He was what my mother would call a good boy.

When I left you in my pocket.
Oh, such a despair.
Leaving you in perfect position
to convert from lover to
stalker
I think you made a mistake
taking yourself out, making it special.
I think I made two
taking you in and making you a song
without a rime, because I must
make apologies to myself
for letting you enter my fingertips.
Closed hands. Make fists
I refused
put you in my pocket
and hit you with ignorance.

Kommentarer
Postat av: amanda

snyggt

2009-06-12 @ 17:29:05
URL: http://www.otnak.blogspot.com

Kommentera inlägget här:

Namn:
Kom ihåg mig?

E-postadress: (publiceras ej)

URL/Bloggadress:

Kommentar:

Trackback
RSS 2.0