I DIED WITH A CAMERA

April 15, 2010
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I think they told me about you
But those were dusty evenings recollected through burnt white clouds
And somewhere sepia nursed itself into a person within a wound
And they told me of old cedar floors and chandelier ceilings
Where everyone had diamond eyes that glowed red when frozen
And somewhere along the way the dust became the path and the
Forest became the fear and all the animals came out to play but
No one would play with them and there was no one there except
Burnt white clouds and sepia wounds.





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