old-new looks, for old-new games

March 26, 2011
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this brand new day, comes with an axe, to chip me away;
the knife in my back, has a blade of grass;
pull it out- let my brightest fears, prettiest thoughts, into the atmosphere,
to surround me, to suffocate me- taunt me, into their crisp mind games, the fresh-hope façade;
centuries old, and vine ripened sweet.

leave me in my icebox, with my blue curtains drawn;
give me back- my pristine isolation, cold swirl, humble-vicious monotony;
take your green life- give me my white sorrow

oh, dear spring, you have sprung- my eyes have sprung a leak,
oh, dear spring, oh, how could you- why would you do this to me?

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