Monday, February 28, 2011

6th st never leaves me

the deranged best friend.
all i see are numbers
all i think about is that porch
we used to sit in
dangling our legs over the grass
toes in the air
eyes to the sky
and you were always high
popping some pills
talking in the dark park
at night counting the angels
i wanted to be your angel
but you wouldn't let me hold your hand
but you wrote me a love letter
i have it still
do i?
i do.
i found it as a surprise in a box with other letters and papers that i should throw away
the best thing about that house was that there were secrets and confidences
that we all never threw away
they are still buried deep inside there.

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