ann ending measure
dust supply
dressed to purchase
fucking dry
the early hours
burning white
on a promise
dregs addressed to empty
parted lips blind to taste
pour the cost against sleepless weight
ashes to the window
moring light applied
hearts a' calling strangers tide
an ending measure dust supply

Poetry by Aaron Jon Wells
Read 880 times
Written on 2006-09-20 at 21:43

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i believe this one text could drive me completely nuts... lol, but really very dark. i like it.