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Nov 2014
My insides are empty train stations
Where our kisses go to die.
I have spent months rhyming
Your name with bandages
And bullet torn nightmares,
Still smiling, still growing,
Left still and surrendered
I am the rain that could not fall,
The night that did not turn to day,
The infection, the terminal,
All change, all change,
all change.
Dean Eastmond
Written by
Dean Eastmond  Weymouth
(Weymouth)   
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