Thursday, February 7, 2013

I Am Blood In The Meat Market

When it rains buckets of sorrow,
a sparrow can rest his song.
The fluttering of butterfly wings cease
to the occasional longitudinal heartbeat.
When you can finally forget the taste of pizza
and the fizz of soda
is a day when the good days with friends end.
Is there any way to change that?
Some say it can,
I am a pessimist so it can't.

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