Saturday, April 9, 2005

> my hands are empty

grasping at intangible straws of memories of happier times past burning still on the tips swaying frantically in the storm winds threatening to blow them all away every last straw filling the skies with their sparkle and brightness lighting up the night skies one final time but in the end my hands are emptya silent whisper and all is lost among millions of whispers that clutter the subconscious

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