Thursday, February 18, 2010
Mea Maxima Culpa
Empty veins running dry
just filled with remnants
of bare faced contempt.
Light playing tricks
as shadows dart across
and the sun fades,
light all at a loss.
Hope, that insufferable
and impossible state of becoming
blossoms through these scales,
sin incapable of stopping.
just filled with remnants
of bare faced contempt.
Light playing tricks
as shadows dart across
and the sun fades,
light all at a loss.
Hope, that insufferable
and impossible state of becoming
blossoms through these scales,
sin incapable of stopping.
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