Sunday, September 21, 2008


On this night, like every other night, tears burn your eyes.
There is no longer a purpose, nor even a desire to search for one.
Familiarity, is all.
Who you cry for is inherently unimportant.
Spill over your lashes; lick up the tracks.
Taste the adversity of paralyzing fear.
Sodium lamentation without a cause hits the mahogany dinette,
and its splash lands in your coffee.
You eat, sleep, breathe painless suffering.

By: Lucy Weiland

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