*The memory of him is black gravel peppered under the skin of my soul.
There is a burn and a sting that no amount of debriding will remove.
Twenty years of sliding down a dead end street,
And I am left raw and road weary at the end of it all.
And where do I go from here? Where do I go?
Do I pick up the scraps of my worn down soul
And hobble back the way I came?
It is travelling in reverse, and my soul ****** well knows it.
I wonder why I wore the leather armor, and not the metal, not the metal?
I was a strong woman, and he was a troubled man.
And in that moment of unselfish confusion,
He put on the maille, and I was pleased.
It was travelling in reverse,
And I ****** well knew it;
I ****** well knew.
The memory of him is black gravel peppered under the skin of my soul.*
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 8:29 PM UTC
*The memory of him is black gravel peppered under the skin of my soul.
There is a burn and a sting that no amount of debriding will remove.
Twenty years of sliding down a dead end street,
And I am left raw and road weary at the end of it all.
And where do I go from here? Where do I go?
Do I pick up the scraps of my worn down soul
And hobble back the way I came?
It is travelling in reverse, and my soul ****** well knows it.
I wonder why I wore the leather armor, and not the metal, not the metal?
I was a strong woman, and he was a troubled man.
And in that moment of unselfish confusion,
He put on the maille, and I was pleased.
It was travelling in reverse,
And I ****** well knew it;
I ****** well knew.
The memory of him is black gravel peppered under the skin of my soul.*
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