[Jeffrey]

Cartwheel

Your ghosts are probably out at some seaside bar,
comparing tall tales and scars and smoking those
big cigars, watching clouds cover the winter stars.

Something comes over me as I finger this faded
rosary, the wood so well-worn from worry that
it could be anyone (you or me!) on that cross.

You and I trade jests and stare at the sun as it
stakes its tent in the west to spend the night
spiralling just out of view. I look over at you,
and you look at me, and the night drifts past
us slowly.

[adamkaboom]

Originally Posted by Jeffrey

Cartwheel
Something comes over me as I finger this faded
rosary, the wood so well-worn from worry that
it could be anyone (you or me!) on that cross.

i like this part the most... gj jeff