December 20, 2007

How should we begin?
Should I tell you why
I couldn’t see the beauty there within
The reason I won’t try.
I’m sick,
In more ways than one.
No – I can’t tell you why –
I can’t tell you what I’ve done
(What I’ve become).
Oh, the meticulous minds of men –
The mental interruptions,
The bleeding, red eruptions –
Oh God, I can’t share myself again.
My soul could sing away
In essence of some brighter day,
But my body couldn’t follow;
It’d simply rot away.
In an instant we could be complete;
Something brilliant, something new.
But I can’t. I won’t make you sick;
I won’t make you suffer too.

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