you are venus de milo in chuck taylors.
you are modern art.
a disorganized splash of color thrown against a canvas, resulting in perfection.
you dont need a saviour,
but you make me wish i could be one.
be yours.
save you.
i sit outside you,
trying doors and windows,
anyway that will let me in.
you are made up of stained glass.
fragile enough to be broken into,
but destroyed if one were to try.
i think i would rather just enjoy you from a hilltop,
view your colors behind the protective glass and red rope,
than taint you with my muddy feet
than try to add colors of my own.
8:08 a.m. - 2004-07-08
Recent entries:
Awake in My Tiny Cage - 2014-11-03
God. - 2014-10-27
I remember me. - 2014-10-17
The Paper - 2014-10-13
A Post About Not Doing Anything - 2014-10-12
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