Wednesday, October 8, 2008

4/4/68

they shot me dead before i was done
they shot me cold, against my hearts hard will
i've said what needed to be said
for they can't kill spoken word with iron

this skin that i have never let stop me before, bleeds-
crimson life on pale white concrete

and i am my demise

strain to keep these lids slivered
maybe my dreams will slip through
so scared to be ripped from this dirt
i've sown with seeds, burnt before the harvest

all may not be lost, but i am

these dreams i've dreamt in color
end in red blood
in a black and white world

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