i have been whitewashed.
i need to be run through the dryer, and
wrung out, i need...

i remember helping you up, not
pushing you down, remember
the slate paper grins that we
wove together to form yarn,
the orange feel good drug.

and i remember what it was for
me to be gentle, that one time when
we laid in our own tombs, and we
were so lost in ourselves, we were
a maze, a repetitious circle...
we were found in the limelight,
we had been tossed and turned, and
i had been put through the wringer,
i had been wrung out, i had...

and you smile at me piously and i am
shaky on these limbs made of bread, and you
are soaked in me, the red wine tasting so sweet
on the pallet of death.
and i remember you, but you never knew where
i hid all the china. you never knew
what the word trigger meant until now.

09/22/2003

Author's Note: well, sistermine, here is your answer. pwa. :)

Posted on 09/22/2003
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