Monday, August 31, 2009

Dying Romantic's Plea

If I were to promise you eternal amour, would you take it? Or you would you snap it off and throw it to the wolves? I've been kicked out of so many sublime courtships that these scrapes on my sides resemble birthmarks. You whisper with doubt in your breath: "I'll be here always." It's enough to pacify my spasmodic esteem but I know it won't last. Tonight I'll go to bed smiling only to wake up 3 months later crippled and bleeding on the border of mortality.

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