Ian MacMenamin · Jan 2, 2011
freedom and beauty

the bench of wood
feels cold
hard.
my hands are like paper
that fades in the spring rain.
before me the crowd shouts
to have me killed
severence
severence.
through the murderous eyes
her feet walk slowly
and I see
all of my life
pass towards me.
it was all
for her.
so I could die
not
alone.

 
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