Friday, May 23, 2008

Stolen Advice


I’m taking advice on what to wash my sin down with
from a man whose lost his best friend to a personal war,
running through fields to search for a certain freedom
that’s been lost inside of me,
I dread to think of every promise I broke
while laying in the middle of the road,
as I dial your number I silently prey to myself
that you’ll forgive me for resuming the fight,
plus one let down
and carry me home to your bedside.

Hand me a battered guitar,
strip me of my clothes,
a steel coat of armor
to reveal every secret carved right into my skin,
I’ll shake as my mystery is robbed
from the outside of me,but the eyes of daggers
they stab at my insides,
I’ll convey my awkwardness in a smile
that will easily,
sweep the shocked tears from your eyes.


Chloe Dyer

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