imaginary beautiful

maybe glad,
for some it's easy
(the hard things are)
stomping is an olympic sport sometimes.

and sledgehammer to the
remains of me
(the bottle is easier than this way and
so often,
more fun)
and the options narrow every few seconds
everytime anywhere
an eye is blinked
(that is the pace at which my heart moves now)
you used to be so
imaginary beautiful
graceful/less and further from lonely
than any bright shining creature
known to sky or sea.

watching you
now or someday
with someone else
is a double-edged sword
either way it
cuts so deep
can gods even survive it?

2004-05-17 | 2:04 p.m.
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