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Mable
02-16-2003, 04:42 PM
He was watching her from the east side of the street
Wondering if she could ever believe in anything
That had to do with him
“You make me limp, as if this competition to
Paint our eyes different colors was more than
A casual match of wits against one another,”
He cried out in vain, wanting her to show something
She was wonderful at shading emotions, so that
It was difficult to tell when they were flitting across
Her face, because the makeup was such an art
It was only when it was running (ever so infrequently)
Down her pale face, was everyone able to see
She could cry just like they all did
“Why won’t you let me take care of you,
The way I should?” he demanded
And she shook her head, lips pressed tight
As if to hold back all the words she
Had in tumult, waiting to kill him
She was as silent an angel as ever,
With dirty socks and holes in her sweater
So beautiful in all her tarnished glory
That even he didn’t notice her shoes didn’t match.

penpainter
02-28-2004, 06:27 PM
I like this! :)

Not quite the ending i saw coming... LOL