domingo, 19 de setembro de 2010

Inadequacy of Eras

I can feel Eddie's words, in that paragraph, deep underneath my bones, like poison.
I feel my blood in need of her..
I can feel my soul screaming, reverberating from far within the black whole of my memories of us...
Of us, of all things that were, all things that were.

I can tell this tale of much more than everything:
Of inadequacy of Eras, of just plain old bad timing..
I can feel that cold of lost chances, everyday, every night, every time I smell her voice, or taste her scent or catch that glimpse of her wondrous soft blues at her door step...
Every time I fall upon my pillow and stupidly hope for dreams...
Every time I'm alone.

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