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sketch

A Poem by Matt

The Mornings always feel horrible....My shoes never seem to fit.

A collection of dull knives scrape over my brain as the light from the window leaked in the room. First mornings light was beginning to glow on her body. I recollected a Million forgotten memories from the night before long enough to realize, that i would make myself forget they ever happened.

I tried.

“A coward dies a thousand deaths... a soldier dies but once.”...... no regrets right..                        Wrong,...   Maybe.


Finding your shoes is the hard part. If you can find your right shoe; and your left shoe isn't already on your right foot and you've seemed to of correctly tied it... then your golden. But God help you if they are separated. You see.. Its all about your exit. About How things are left off, to be continued later... or to just be left off.

IT.
 
It was something about her eyes.
Something rare.. Her gaze was descruction
temptation.


The color of her eyes were chains.




© 2011 Matt



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Added on September 28, 2011
Last Updated on September 28, 2011

Author

Matt
Matt

Fort Worth, TX



About
my name is matthew. nuff said... oh and all this is old stuff.. way old stuff more..

Writing
Trust issues Trust issues

A Poem by Matt


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A Poem by Matt





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