Don Traverso |
Mind bleeding battered torn Run away, it follows you Stand your ground, it rips at you Bloody parts lie on the sand It sifts about like television Static dancing whirling round Melt into it, scattered signals Quiet here and still like death Static like colliding stars Staring dead astronaut eyes Everything is static now Nothing's real, same for you. |
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Staring at the paper, with no idea how to start the suicide note, the writer gives up and puts the knife back in the cupboard for yet another day. |
copyright © 1993 Don Traverso