Forever Alone

February 27, 2012
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The color of wilted roses,
Are the palms of your hands.
And as your first closes,
Her eyes fall into quick sand.

In the window of her soul,
I see the past.
Dying for fresh air,
Broken hour glass.

Anger makes a devil of all men.
Shuddering in fear,
As the clock ticks past ten.
The plates are on the table,
But the food yet to be served.

Sorry, so sorry,
Her last words.

The color of burnt concrete,
Are the remains of her bones.
And as the casket closes,
They turn into stone.

Forever alone.
Forever alone.



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