The Journal of Mainon A Schwartz|
08/27/2003 03:34 p.m.
Poetic justice is staying up all night in an illicit-passion-frenzy (with someone who belongs elsewhere) and staying up all night the next night with someone who's been threatened with the loss of a loved one.
(Stick with me, try to follow)
Poetic justice is dodging tornadoes of emotions (they're like mythical creatures, who if you stare right at them and say you don't believe in them, just might vanish) and finding yourself sitting curled in the concrete hallway of a institutional basement, while sirens overhead blare warnings of "real" tornadoes.
(Am I taking too much license?)
Poetic justice is longing for the diamond 'round someone else's neck that you can never have, and finding later that the solitaire in the window, the one that's for sale but is pear-shaped instead of emerald-cut, was crying over you.
(O but I never cry, remember?)
Let me know when it's time to stop being humbled, Lord.
I am currently Somber
I am listening to the beating of MY heart (not yours)
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