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Thu, Jul. 27th, 2000, 11:51 pm

Whenever the lives of saints turn to passing.

This was only sensation at the last minute.
When love walked in the door, the door moved
thousands of miles away meant You
were there only ten minutes left?

This waited forever to begin.
Roads were not long enough when they needed to be.
Paths became too short, while mountains
slothingly and angrily dis-distinguishing creeped into each other.

This gave us nothing to live for but this.
Once tasted, once forever gave us too many things
to think about what W-A-N-T-E-D means
are for arriving at any kind of decision or incision.

This is killing me and You
only too many times could be scraped from bone walls
muscle chambers
and the insides of my liver cannot take much more.
This is ridiculous.
What this, does it make the world fall on its side and pass judgement?
This this is too too much, and trying
leaves only fall
and trees never
love
this.