Ave crux spec unica!


what about you?

so this is where we stand?
funny, I can't see your eyes from here
I can't se nothing at all

it's not my hand on your shoulder
it's my frozen fingers touching mid-air
and nothing else
never has been
anything else

just the average
amount of reality
the daily injection
into my vains

my blood as red as
a self-portrait of
my innocence

does anyone really understand
can anyone see these markings
on the ground?



Poetry by Max Bäckström
Read 627 times
Written on 2006-11-18 at 20:22

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