Sunday Sunday Sunday Poem by Shelby Burnside
Sunday Sunday Sunday
sunday, sunday, sunday.
all is moving, heart is beating.
a question and an answer
never thought i'd hear you say.
i dont remember dying
but the paper knows the pain.
sunday, sunday, sunday.
it beats beneath my chest.
holding on, all but destroyed.
i hold only memories in my eyes.
and those promises. break them?
i can't, i can't, i can't.
Monday, January 26, 2009
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5/1/2024 7:53:03 PM # 1.0.0.1119
