Thursday, December 10, 2009

A Yellow Bruise

A mist drawn skull reflected on heated glass, you saw death before it came,
I can see a lot in you, a fires flame turned blue.

A Sinatra voice, lulling her into a mossy daze,
Now a danger to myself, a self portrait on the wall.

In the house, your a lover in a hole, an inescapable soul,
A hideous thing inside, I waited patiently for it to emerge.

Now needing restriction, i could no longer obey a strange conviction,
Trying to respect unwanted honor, you held your tongue and listened.

Decisions unable to make, typical to cling to memories you can not fake,
You could have fallen into red lips and a yellow bruise.

Salty water in her eyes, hiding from ever growing lies.
In the end you will be tired, eventually put to rest.

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