22.9.09

Works from the Little Green Moleskine

Written during a night out at PS14.

No words can be used
hand signals, and stomps
Can this be what the elders spoke of
Love gone most a rye
Fooled thought of forever
Eyes blaring through a cloud of smoke
Devil's drink arrogates the worlds senses
The end of all that commences
Stomp and flail
You're still gone
My heart...still frail

-jairo

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