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I might have been your blindfold, but you were my last cigarette before the world opened fire. Now you're the blood on my hands, while I'm the after-ring still splitting the air. |
I like the metaphors in this. "Blindfold," blinded by beauty? "Last cigarette," something hot and smoky? (No doubt a firing squad.) "after-ring," a broken engagement? Obviously the victim was convicted of some heinous crime. Phil | Posted on 2011-09-04 00:00:00 | by phil askew | [ Reply to This ] | Pretty much sums up love in a nutshell or shall i say nut sack? Love is like a baby, the minute that it's born it begins to fade and devolve, it is kind of like a sine wave that never quite goes up to the peak where it started and leaves us to wonder why... | | Posted on 2011-06-15 00:00:00 | by Clayman | [ Reply to This ] | evolution of love...decomposition of acceptance of it. | you were my last cigarette...my last wish before the execution of my emotion... but my ears are still ringing from the shot, my heart is still vibrating from the sound...and there is blood on my hands...did i kill something? or did it kill me? whose blood is this anyway? jacob | Posted on 2011-06-11 00:00:00 | by jacoberin | [ Reply to This ] | |