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lost intentions

you sit there holding
your arm with your hand, showing
your anxiety
towards me, be not afraid
I come here to help fix you

bring me the pliers
and the tape, pour in the oil
and bring in matches,
we're going to burn you down,
with no water in our hands

A contest entry

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Comments


  • ASmileForYou
    December 8, 2008

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    Wow, that was an interesting twist to the end of the poem. I was expecting him to be a doctor!
    Very nice write! Thanks for entering!