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    Sunday, January 18, 2009

    They Tell Me Leave
    and sit a suitcase in front of my feet
    little and black who knew something so harmless
    could mean so many things
    this is me turning my back on everything and walking out
    this is him turning his back and saying i'm the last one you'd expect to walk out now
    that little suitcase is as black as the bruises turn
    the color i feel after its all over
    as hard and as cold as my heart these days
    i pack up what matters
    and i look down on the things that don't
    it's this or behind bars they tell me
    aren't we all behind bars in some way or another?
    she is.
    and he is.
    and i am too.
    i've got my own way out
    and to you, you've only got each other.
    one dying and the other killing oneself
    its a long drawn out poison
    what's worse, watching you die or knowing you will sooner than you should've?
    i wonder when it happens will i look down into that grave and say
    "i want to take back the things i said about me wishing you were dead"
    maybe i'll feel that its all my fault.
    that the reason he hangs his head so low,
    the reason his feet drag the slightest bit when he steps through those doors
    was because i was born
    i'll miss your smile and your laugh
    but those memories were replaced by flashing lights and screaming sirens
    or was it my screaming that i'm hearing?
    makes no difference.

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