Thursday 4 September 2008

its almost like a show

night crawls up on me like an enemy
day fades, with it thoughts of you
an occasional memory of your hair or your smile
they make me weak, at the same time unforgiving.

they said i shouldnt do it, i shouldnt give myself to you
yet i seek your face in the crowd, daydream of your kiss, imagine your touch.

burying my morals and principles
i seem to be too good at that lately
theyve stopped being important, they mean nothing.

you walk away with a wave of your hand
fixing your hair behind your ear and inhaling on your cigarette
a longing spectator is what you make of me.

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