These things they go away
Replaced by something new
Unfamiliar
You thought you could trust
but there is pain under my breath
Every reflection reveals something more
If we were to get what we deserve
no one could stand up

The writing on my heart will be gone
like an outdated letter
It's burned by the flames of time
never to be read again
There is never any remnant

So fleeting
Fickle
Like dust in the wind

11/28/2003

Author's Note: I'm not too sure what I mean by this. Often, by the end of a poem, I mean something completely different as the beginning. I think this is one of those poems. I can't really keep the same thought through the whole thing. That's why it makes little sense. That's the way I like it.

Posted on 11/28/2003
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