Sunday, January 16, 2011

How Many Years.

Truth requires peculiar words.

Lonesome afternoon, where is your bliss? Where is your serenade of peace and belonging?

If I sleep will I feel better? Or at least nothing at all?

But when sleep won't come, I wonder how many years till this name of mine is worn out.

I have suffered enough at war with myself. It's far time I won.

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