Monday, October 22, 2007

Not Quite Drunk; Confessions

If I was a better person, I swear
to you I swear I'd find another way
But you're always screaming &
yelling & insulting & hating
Until it's too much, everything --
yes, until everything's too much
And the only cure for sound
is silence, and my raised hand
and your body and the sneer
gone from your face, but --
If I weren't what you made me
I swear I'd find a way to silence
sound that didn't need your tears.

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