Tuesday, April 29, 2014

It Must Be Death to Make Life Simply Gruff.

You took me apart
and now I see
that just as a start
I give this piece to thee.

My heart dripping honey and rough.
Staring straight eyes and make me tough.

Our dads are dying
and the fits come and go.
No use denying
of what each other we know.

It must be death to make life simply gruff.
We take up below to just lessen enough.

There was honey where things fell blank.
There was sunlight where flesh sank.
There was something other than nothing to bank.
There was laughter after the empty tank.

The universe asked, do you know
what you are doing to her?
My  purse tasked with sorrow,
blood, and hemorrhaging girth.
She circles one millionth of me
and yet she is all I can feel inside.
A purple sun fulfilling entropy,
such order forcing chaos to hide.

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