Friday, 16 October 2009

A Story for Sometimes

I was missing you so much,
with many things inside me touch,
my heart each minute once,
but I am mad with guns,
shooting my head and a thing knocks,
shakes and really bleeding, am,
believe me I've never taken,
care as much as you can explain,
serious being,
and funny sometimes;
and indeed with your presentia to living,
I would be completely in peace,
sound and safe;
for myriad of reasons,
I clearly sense,
you're true emotions, for me,
and the way I'm surrounded,
carried and held,
by them, like white wings
and I'm flying;
besides lots of you,
and us,
still taking me to you,
with no image in my head,
but only yours.

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