Dead November...

the endless wondering of a child -

thats who we were

we ran around the playground

of our borrowed youth

we left all the sole marks

of truth underneath the

rug of our fears



we felt the urge to

dwell inside our dance

but then again

we drifted apart like the leaves

blown away from the

frail arms of trees by the

chilly breeze of fall



weve gone back to

to the rough streets of

the world and became

a part of the clutter

that we are

lost in a crowd of

faceless creatures

habitual prisoners of life

of love of sin



you have become

a mother of the new

and i - a child peering

through the window of time

motionless and questioning

cuddled only by the warmth

of this frozen anticipation

disgracefully unwanted

desperately needed

forever in my bleeding

and constantly jaded

and wondering if

the november you burnt

would rise again from its ashes.


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