Friday, February 4, 2011

Catchers Never Cry or Death by Misadventure Deux (Of my own destruction)

Sitting in the beginning
Of an amazing thing,
Standing on the graves of
Buried people I thought
I would bring no more flowers,
Still can one weep for the lost,
When he’s found what he lost for?
Was it worth it?
And I never got an answer from the
Ghosts who never say a word
Left without a why
Yet I want to bring it back
Bring it back to where it was
Before I tried to lock fingers
To try and hold one here
Who never wanted to stay.

I’ve been inspired by the lost,
And they come back and move
These hands and the ink will
Run until I never lose.

Run until the fall.
To try and stop…
Can’t give up,
The playful girl burned her hand
Still touches that stove…
I see but…
A fire burned,
And there’s still a smolder.
To be used up and thrown away,
She doesn’t want to be caught,
Even though she was.

She never knew what it did.
And she never will.
I can’t stand thinking about

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