fete_accompli — 9 years ago(January 11, 2017 10:28 PM)

Then with water in my eyes
The words began to rise from their place
They were beautiful and dread
I reached for them and fed on each phrase
They were honey on my lips
Then a bitter twist in my side
I knew they'd lay me in my grave
"Is there no one who could save me?" I cried
You mean you got yr photographic memory back? Oh dear
There was very little sound from the man except for a continual series of moans. - Charles Bukowski