Thursday, May 14, 2009

You buy into it, you lie into it.
You are the bed you weave.

If it could be different
you would make it different:
don’t cry over what you make real.

We are the beginning, we live our
middle ground, we grow the gold elixir.

Somewhere in the struggle I wonder,
yet I never forgive the plunder

of the self.




22.58
31/01/09

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