Friday, September 28, 2012

Hide

The wind blows through the fan
My hair becoming a nest
A place where birds I ban
From deep inside my chest
 
I am a slave
On a grey slate
Not at all brave
To this very date
 
The streets abandoned car
The lights lay dim
The thugs off far
The girls face grim
 
The light on a slant
Is something I don't grant.

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