___________________________________
typing on dirty
surfaces in the late night
the keys should be white
the broken drywall
covering the gallery
i breath in the dust
stale spit in my mouth
forming familiar tastes
lack of words are home
it is getting cold
outside the smoke forms a cloud
i breathe on your face
slowly i change pace
counting all the cracks every time
makes me feel so safe
peanut butter smeared
a layer on my sketch book
it smells of nuts now
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11/22/09
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