my narrator is quiet today...
even he knows I'm done
and is at a loss for words
to be my mouthpiece
to bewail the stupidity
that passes for my life...
and worse I'll outlive none
that know me
oh how the tales will fly...
all my evidence on me
like grave clothes
and not one other will know
how it looked to me...just see who critiques this
with all their echoes also fading...
Content (c) 2008-2013 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
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