Monday, 23 November 2009

POETRY - The Crash.

You go home.
Adrenaline slowly makes its way out of your system,
Your tired bones a constant reminder,
Your face still flushed from blushing,
A whir of words and gestures
Executed as best you could,
the recall, the replay,
the pleasantries,
the lies.
False love on a lit stage.
In those moments you said and gave all you could
And still rang false.
The phone buzzes silently in your top pocket
You go home.
As momentum seeps from every pore.

P.Davidson 23/11/09

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