Old Friend

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Oh, the stories I could tell; you could tell


Of melancholy Manhattan mornings


And of bloody Brooklyn busrides.


 


My dear remember, that's how we first fell 


Into friends. Friends fell in. 


Into love. Fell into friends again. 


 


Oh, the stories we could tell of us,


You could tell of us; I could tell of us.


Dreadful discussions 


that only drove us deeper into the 


desert of depression. 


Empty sick laughter 


That rumbled and roared


And morphed into healing power. 


 


Oh, the beautifully pitiful talks we have had


That have left my stomach empty with a pit of nostalgia.


I miss you, twisted friend. Twisted friend, I miss you.


I miss you and I-intertwined- in mind.  


Please, again, be mine.

Created: Apr 25, 2012

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