i react, and
she doesn't call, and anybody could have seen this coming i react, and cold burning irony sleeps cold burning wiry inside of me, crunching on my entrails, eating my guts sour away, i react, and used to feeble nurse the wounds, i used her to heal the broke-open tombs the bitter taste of her perfumes could not begin to shelter me from all the places i feel empty in, all the stages i play passionate all the races i have yet to win, i react, and of all the poses i can't seem to strike, the burning cold of burning cold midnight is the only success i bear witness in, she doesn't call, and anybody could have seen this coming this mute retort this sad resorting to the ways i am the ways i've been the lilting and macabre grin the mental motionless within reacting to the ways i've been islanded without a cause, can i reason with my only friend? a breeze to underwrite the laws, a season without play or pause... hark, the herald angels fill the darkened skies with laughter i react, and down comes rolling poor old jack and jill comes rolling after. Written October 28th, 2001 © on Oct 27 2001 07:23 PM PST 0 • 18 • 1
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"she doesn't call, and..."