Saturday, December 20, 2008

PROSE...POEM?

The fire burns beside
But the hands are still cold
Cold as death.
They could die
And they could kill
For love
In vain.

Killing is not easy.
But killing is not hard
When you murder yourself
For the sake of love,
For the sake of hate.
When you are pushing
Yourself to death
Knowing full well you
Can stop it any moment.

But then you you do not want
To live...

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