Death is at our door full of angelic light.
You are becoming a breathing memory.
One I can't recall ever really having except when I sleep.
You bit my hands, that's when I fell in love with you.
I was damaged.
You were naive and fragile.
We look at each other and see sand.
You fuck him and try to mean it as much as you can.
It's only when you sit in Roxanne that you look in the back seat and wish I would disappear completely.
Now you have to make new crutches.
And I can only watch you drown.
At some point you will.
We all do.
You will never understand how sore my eyes are having to let you walk amongst the crimson wolves alone.
By the time you realize how irrational we both were, death will be at our door full of angelic light.
©2010 D.B.
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