Monday, February 20, 2006
Lost
Like a defeated general standing on a mount, the pungent stench of failure swirling in the nose with the sour curl of rising tears. The burden to be smiling and strong breaking your back.
Solidarity, solitarily.
Words so close but yet so different.
Separated by one degree, one person.
By who? You ask.
By you.
cLoUd DriFteD bY at
12:34 AM
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kennysia
