All of the young boys wanted her,

They just never know what to say.

Like moths to the flame

It's always the same

In the darkest of night

They flittered by.

She prattled on

Incessantly

Never stopping,

Always talking

About nothing

About everything.

I think that she just liked

The sound of her voice.

All of the boys wanted her,

But for other reasons.

01/26/2008

Posted on 01/26/2008
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