"When we can no longer dream, we die" -Emma Goldman

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

The Sad Lady

Who was it that broke your nose?
That tore your dress?
Who removed your arm?
Your beautiful eyes weren't always lined with creases and cracks. Who did this?
A toga as flowing and sheer as your own mustn't be torn and ripped as it is.
Your arm is supposed to be right here, gesturing to the pool.
Why is is that these questions go unanswered yet I know how average people's lives are?
This is sad, and this is what makes the sad lady sad.

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