For we die every day; oblivion thrives
Not on dry thighbones but on blood-ripe lives,
And our best yesterdays are now foul piles
Of crumpled names, phone numbers and foxed files.
Sunday, March 25, 2012
i didn't kill her i didn't kill her i didn't kill her i didnt kill her i didnt kill her ididntkillher ididntkillher ididntkillherididntkillherididntkillherididntkillerididkillerididkilleridid
No comments:
Post a Comment