Saturday, February 4, 2012

Vestibule.


At times you bleed,
like a thorn kissed by a finger;
like the knife dipped in ink.
At times you bleed,
like a heart fit for surrender.
Your mind is a shallow pit,
inconspicuous,
yet,
many a thought has tripped over you.
At times you bleed,
like you have always been bleeding.

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