I write because I have no will to do otherwise. To not write is to not express and to not express is to not exist. I write, therefore, I am.

Monday, August 30, 2010

mobile

Hanging from the ceiling

a mobile can be found

Breaking up the pieces of me

to decorate the ground

That very pretty mobile

On its very pretty string

Holds up all the hopes and loves

The never ending sin

The dreams that never started out

With a chance to live

All hanging from the ceiling

Making little out of big

Couldn’t help but see you

When you were at your worst

And now that you’re back from dark side

You’re still cold as ice

Even if it all in my mind

Maybe you really are kind

But you didn’t stop talking

Long enough to hear me

And now and you’re gone

I can finally be free.

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