Mold
Just broken logic. What a painful clue.
Hands on broken hearted, who do you abuse?
Take a dirty shot and drop me to the floor.
Open up my wounds like the ones that you adored.
Just breaking mold. What a simple way to choose.
You made the clay and poured me in two.
Not one for being blind, but I see with shattered shades.
Not just twisted by the thoughts, but an incoherent rage.
Measure me then throw me down, I'm not the way you left me.
But the picture you have shown yourself could be than man in waiting.
Copyright © Jeremy Aguire | Year Posted 2011
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