the pasture of lonliness in the age of heartache

the younger we are and still we grow

our hearts split in two and just maybe now that's what we needed to remember our favorite songs and slip ourselves into bleach colored madness for the strip coat of our dreams (we're primers for our own mid-life crises) and a sunset to ask our long lost loves for answers (not found in the stars) but then we break our bakcs and wait for the careful admonitions of a tired man who doesn't know anymore than we do.

and i mean that, i really do in some sadistic wet dream way

what i wanted, needed, thought was mine was just a parasail glider and a soft excuse for dying.

but the soul can never be rewritten...

2003-02-21 | 2:45 p.m.
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