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
Instant-weight-loss-meat-diet
book.

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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