bandaged at the wrist

CHANGEinWAVESCHANGEinWAVES Posts: 10,169
edited February 2009 in Poetry, Prose, Music & Art
Can I say I miss those days
when a cloud of smoke filled the room
where people stood in a huddled mass
knowing too well what was to come
forgetting too much of the past
the break of the glass and shattered costs
a tie that chokes the throat
when thoughts are knives
in an air of doubt
issues that are belted at the waist
if a paper bag can contain a dream
what does a crumpled one behold.
"I'm not present, I'm a drug that makes you dream"
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