Sunday, 1 May 2011

''It is a law of nature that a dream carried far too long inside you must, eventually, begin to rot.''


Buried are my bruises, that shine in your reflection.
A heap of mess, decaying in on itself, once shone; beaming in light, now hides shamelessly in nothingness.
Unscented, unscathed, untouched by man's hand, but yet to his eye remains, completely mislaid.

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