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.
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, 2012npolizzotto Document Media