painfully reclusive, overly lonely, forever sleep-sick.
still alive, and writing.
i create music;
www.facebook.com/karlchristophmusic
Scars tiger stripe her arms,
in warm derailed trains of thought.
A crumbed bread path to follow home.
Rain wet socks slip as she walks.
Missed calls of some importance,
hours pass in stills of mind.
We cut loose and lost our fire,
in a crooked bar with a neon sign.
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