Sunday, 2 October 2011


I could fill you up with empty promises, hot air to flush faces,
bright sparks from broken matches, burnt out, stubbed out cigarettes,
hung heads, broken hearts and course, spat regrets, no I regret nothing,
I fret nothing, back and forth, pacing rooms and reaching into letter boxes,
desperate reclamation of misspelt, unintended intentions,
fretting up and down in patterns, unguided raw invention,
I dreamt I saw you, cried because you weren't there and did nothing,
it kills me.

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