kay. good. you're welcome :)


I know the mistruths

the withheld

the dance around

coal; blazed abound

It’s just a face

just a past

an old flame

a family of wicks

and dripping wax

I will wear your paper bag

like a lung collapse

as if to admit a fault

For how could I fight

a fire so dim but yet so spread?

How could I, with gasoline feet

and greasy hands,

bare my own match?

I should have never known

I should have never asked

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Blink's picture

There are many

Like you yourself described. But if no one strikes a match, how can we see in the darkness?

Before you insult someone, walk a mile in their shoes, that way, when you insult them, you're a mile away, and you have their shoes.