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Death In Staring
by Gregory Wilde  /  poetry  /  30 Sep 2007

I'm staring into the eyes of some sort of death,
There ain't no way I'm going back,
Been round the block so hard my feet are stone,
Someone should have said that my boots were filled with blood,
Can't begin to assume that she was back in her groove,
I was out so far I didn't see nothing but the cold pink moon.

People are talking that I ain't the same,
But if you're really talking, how come your lips move but nothing is said?
Lies are like truths but with the story of illusion,
Just try to find me, I'm in another room of smoke and untold suspicions.

If you really liked the stories that I told,
Then why did you sell everything I owned?
Once I got sick, you ran into the past,
You took a train and never came back.

Once, you told me that we would meet again,
But that was years ago, haven't heard from you since,
You took my books and my papers to burn,
Could have at least left me a cigarette an' a shirt.

Christ, all those people told is,
"You'd come back once I hit rock bottom into an abyss,"
Where were you when I had no money for a room?
Must have been out doing the twist,
Burning cigars and drinking in bars,
I could have seen your kiss from anyone smart enough to photograph it.

Now, I'm on a boat heading through the sea of time,
Death stops for no one, neither you or mine,
The water burns my eyes so bad,
I should have called you at least once just to see how sorry you is.

My mind is so blank it's an empty page,
Shots of images that can't be remember, can't be erased,
Water is growing I can't go nowhere,
Don't know what I did, should have believed in a god,
Maybe then I could have been undercover.

Can't see you through the back pages of my mind,
Death comes to me now like truths from a mime. 

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