Alone
By birksy
I hold the stare of a wooden cat, but he wins the war, he knows I'm easily melted, can tell what sort of man I am. And the reflection, he thinks I'm nothing, doesn't catch my eye, he's far too afraid to. So the dark is all I have to watch, and when ticks turn eyes inward, there sits an empty man. Written March 3rd, 2002 © on Mar 02 2002 11:47 PM PST, Simon Birks 0 • 1
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"I hold the stare of a..."