According To You

Rain is the futile gesture
Of a shortsighted
lovesick sky.

Infants hold as much guilt
Clutched tight in their pudgy fingers
As Bin Laden's voice, or that guy's

Second chances are for cigarettes
And wooden matches.

The grass is never greener,
It just makes the graves look cleaner.

And tomorrow is as black
And cold
As a mouth
Full of empty promises.

The End

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