Saturday, December 4, 2010

Bloody Fingers

Now I just sit here
imprisoned by walls and glass
My mind dwells on
the guilt
and sorrow
and regret
Bloody I.V.'s placed by
even bloodier hands
and a stale morning coffee
to dance with the tongue
Half empty parking lots
are lit by afternoon suns
A knock
a weekend vanished
I wish every black car was you.

No comments:

Post a Comment