Saturday, January 13, 2007

Parting Words

I'll trade you these words for your dreams or your whispers, or even the mask you're wearing, or your cloak of morning sun.

Not that I think you'd want my words.

It's me who wants to know what's behind the mask, what sunshine whispers in your dreams, but you act like it's no mystery to you, like you've got it all figured out.

I'm here to serve notice that it's not so and that some day you'll be alone and hungry and eat those words you just said before you took off your mask and walked out the door.

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