When the dying sun seems like
a colored blob just out of your reach;
and you start to expect warmth
to emanate from sunny colored liquids;
When the white crescent moon seems like
a monstrous scar on the back of the sky;
and you feel that no light will ever touch
the tattered fabric of your face;
I say
welcome, to the blind side.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
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