It was here I saw you first,
Not mortal, but still
Plundering old dreams, roses
From a looking glass.
In youth, the porcelain dolls
Smiled upon cold hearts,
All left far behind
Waiting for a real girl.
Then I realized, with
Dripping paint staining
Your cold shroud, that
You were the one.
So much to say, yet at a loss for words.
About Me
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Friday, February 19, 2010
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