Thursday, March 26, 2009

Sixty Sicks


I am sick of the sight of you.

You are always staring back,

even when i am not.

Day one - you were here.
Today you were here.
You are everywhere.

everywhere.

A number with no meaning,
means everything to me.

You have scarred me.

Are you only coincidental;
a pigment of my imagination?
or is this real?

For what purpose do you follow me?

Am i supposed to know?
I am sick of the sight of you.
Yet you have opened my eyes,
to live for a reason,
an uncomprehending purpose,
unraveling before my eyes.
Your brutish scent keeps me intrigued.
I only hope you guide me the right path.
For there is no escaping your presence.
You are always here.
You will always be here.
66.


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