Thursday, April 28, 2011

Comfort in disobedience

What surges out of me is nothing but indecency
What I long to give to you, but that's what I won't do
Anymore, any time, these butter soaked fingers 
Will get their grip and gouge out your truth

This time it's not me
It's just who you think I am
This time it's not me
I know that you're not real

Trying to be a billion things that comfort me
Comfort you, but that won't happen because it's you
These fallen filings, dropped down to the ceiling
Expect it not to go away, expect it to disobey

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