Sunday, October 12, 2008

An old one.

Through the window,
there is not a slender heart.
It is loud, it throbs and strains red.

I would, I could drive you mad with the sounds that play within me.

Or.

Maybe.

They will only torment me.

I only know
that when you look at me
I will ask my heart to hush,
to hush and let you be...

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