Sunday, February 27, 2011

As the golden sun painted on the wall never sets,
a stronghold impulse is glued to my knuckles that never
lets me be. The throttle increases till m flesh burns
and causes the roots of m hair to shake loose.
I cannot settle for the night,
a never-ending day will suffice.
Try me thrice against the ice
a slippery surface is nice.

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