Fingerprints left on pristinely white windows,
evidence of these memories I'd begun to
forget. Empty rooms full of echos and
silent black movies - walls bleeding
experience from times of
regret.
Whenever I spoke the tone just went
dead - they never were listening, no matter
the song. My cries to the crowd were
quietly pleading, yet waiting for answers
was waiting too long.
The seat by the window was the one
that she dreamt of - and even she
listened only half of the time.
"The children of lovers are orphens" she
told me - I think I believed that music of
mime.














Comments
--
"Im sorry miss, but you're fired"
"Why?"
"For having unprotected sex with company oranges"
~written-from-within
--
She's the type of girl who leaves condoms on her bedroom dresser...
--
"Im sorry miss, but you're fired"
"Why?"
"For having unprotected sex with company oranges"
~written-from-within
--
She's the type of girl who leaves condoms on her bedroom dresser...
--
"Im sorry miss, but you're fired"
"Why?"
"For having unprotected sex with company oranges"
~written-from-within
--
She's the type of girl who leaves condoms on her bedroom dresser...
(you smell)
--
"Im sorry miss, but you're fired"
"Why?"
"For having unprotected sex with company oranges"
~written-from-within
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