Friday, May 18, 2007

This Is Still Not A Poem

Your golden needle mends the torn fabric of of my existence
Your silver thread contains me as I threaten to burst at my seams
Yet I disintegrate
All that's left is your silver thread
For a thousand years beyond the end of time.

ps: it was your golden needle which burst the fabric bubble of my existence in the first place.
pps: I should have stayed away.

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