towards the dusty left <br />end of a basement city <br />the rain washes nothing <br />leaving sin in streaks on the street <br /> <br />i can hear it <br />the cracked dry giggle <br />of a grave i cannot avoid <br />save for nightly smokescreens <br />it turns on a white ribbon smile <br />oh yes <br />oh yes <br />it will wait <br />one more day <br />maybe two <br />knowing i understand very little <br />except for loose stitches <br />and slowing rotting anger <br />though i try <br /> <br />merciful merciless G*D <br />i don't ask for the end of war <br />for the sick to be healed <br />or sunny saturdays in april <br />just a nod and a handshake <br />so i can understand something <br />about something <br /> <br />i throw my hands wide like pigeons <br />to let the rain drown me <br />in cold calculated rythym <br />when finally it fades <br />and what remains <br />is what i have been gifted <br /> <br />nothing <br />nothing <br />nothing...<br /><br />alexandre arnau<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-next-suicide/
