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June 17, 2007

hello,
dark lips girl,
so slender moist and
memories are benign of
death.
saturday night out
and the dancing
was a strange shooting
contest detached from me
and you.
can you believe i believed
you at your call?
nights of music and dim,
nights remembered the whistle
of the pipe, bubble bubble
and the world could be so
interesting. tight thoughts
encumbered wrapped thick
around emotions so thin.
time wasted with little gain
and you start to look for
all the lost pieces of your
lifetime.
you're never brightest
like Saturday night,
and nothing can be more
depressing than Sunday.