SweaterA Poem by Abigale LeCavalierSweater It is easy for me to read words through the smoke of a broken cigarette, it is easy for me to stay wasted and occupied. Having no regret or inclination to clear my name, I stagger through life; of course, not wanting for another tomorrow. And she gives me roses when I cut her, she likes the taste of blood, it reminds her of mother. In my hands she is afraid, and all her friends stare at me; I have read this story before, I penned the play. But when she breaks she breaks, leaving lasting impressions on the pages of my soul, loosing her to the night, to the moon and the flickering of the stars. And I'm not trapped anymore, in this first big lie. © 2017 Abigale LeCavalier |
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Added on February 10, 2017 Last Updated on February 10, 2017 Author
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