It’s All Only MAG

August 22, 2013

He took my hand and led me
Into his glamorously draped, secretly Styrofoam
Dream world
Where the sky was the only clock.
Breakfast butterflies on a Sunday morning
Because his eyes shone like love in the light,
And I didn’t know the sun was his employee.
Over the bridge at night,
Hands burned prints across my skin
So softly but suddenly
The insides of my lids glowed red
Until I opened to black, the torrid closeness of him
And the icy stone railing on my back.
Now awake and searching
For a cure and oblivion,
I’m lost in the swiftly rushing
Water under his bridge.

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