the cracked glass
litters the floor--
swiftly permeates
the rough bottom of my foot.

it crinkles
in the silent night
as i slowly
edge towards you.

i leave a trail
of rouged blood
trickled down
from my spine.

a spotted floor;
rose-pricked blood.

i whisper gently
in the calm wind--
but you cannot
hear my callings.

a desperate soul.

01/05/2004

Posted on 01/06/2004
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