Five of Eight
Misdirection
Copouts thrown
Cheap scapegoats
Techno groans
Engines rumble
Emotions tumble
My hands; they fumble
Rocket missfires
Screams of the tires
As we come to hault
My lips taste of salt
Conversate
Congregate
Spend a little time
Compensate
Don't be late
Dwelve inside your mind
Claims i staked
Had you pegged
But still you had declined
Broken heart
Wasted art
Yet still my hands are tied
Tried to deny
The feelings i hide
Yet I set them all free
So you possibly,
Could let yourself see
You never needed me
A toy just a lust
Avoid you I must
Alone again. I have to be.
Now we are lost
A winter frost
Still, every rose must die
Copyright © Jeffrey Holcomb | Year Posted 2006
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