imperfect winners
in other words,
perfect losers.
when this second becomes better than the last,
i thought i have won.
your words at times sent ideas
for me to audaciously trespass the turf,
just like your hands,
sweaty,
at times.
and it has nothing to do with anything.
i should never be able
to come to a conclusion.
i lost.
here,
have a seat.
reader k | 9/11/2005 11:52:00 AM |
