Wednesday, August 09, 2006

Detachment

Broken pieces lie on the floor,
I don't want to pick them up
A false glimmer in each reflection
What it means I don't know.
I am in each piece,
The shattered wreck of my humble cup.
I don't want to look, I don't want to feel
I simply want to turn to the unreal....

ps: Trying to sound detatched. I don't care if I'm effective enough.

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