Monday, 5 April 2010

Mourning Suit.

I call her my widow, not wife. For I shall die in the name of love, that much is certain.
If not from a broken heart, then from the process of trying to fix it.
I am the spawn of adoration and wretchedness.
And through my mind, body and soul they do battle.
I am divided between the very last word in good and evil.
Sitting on the fence, staring aimlessly into to pits of Hell and the clouds of Heaven.
I have become a representative of all things misinterpreted.
And I speak the last sane words of the realist;
"I wish I were anywhere but here, with nobody but you"

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