Holes with toes
feeling the grass,
dream me up
turn this rag into you,
give me a fake exterior,
so you are happy
smile I died,
really you love you
Author notes
One's real life is so often the life that one does not lead.
A contest entry
- Random Beats Predictable by J.P.Troy.
600 points, ended October 22, 2007, 16 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
