i sit outside in the sunlight
holding my knife,
feeling cold in my right
thigh
on top of three pillows
i smoke
cigarettes
wrapped in a woolen
blanket
trying- without success- to rid
and cleanse my conscience
trying- but failing- to erase
your face from my memory
the rules abide by i
the wind blows a sigh
towards closed
windows
inside you try to open up
your mind but
only those thighs spread wide
while a dove cries
a sobbing symphony
of 'i don't know whys'
me: the first to accept an apology yet
the last to apologize
fast replies that provide alibis
for the tortures of these times
ideas of 'wrong' and 'right' collide
until the punishment is the crime
...here comes the sun, there goes the tide,
the bride has no place left to hide
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