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Going To Bed At Night
Author: Buttney

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She sits in her brand new house
in front of her big screen T.V.
on her leather couch

She wears her diamond rings
bracelets, necklaces,
and earrings
when they both go out to do things

She goes to bed at night
and lays on her pillow top mattress
next to the man she calls a bastard
he has no idea what she thinks of him
he just teases her and says she's full of madness.

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Comments on this poem/writing:

prozachick (152.163.252.98) -- Sunday, April 25 2004, 07:00 pm

Going To Bed At Night

hey girlfried! sounds like the bastard needs 3 or 4 more martinis before bed. Spin your tales and keep weaving your webs. Please tell us more!!

~prozachick
kathy brown (10.113.44.139) -- Thursday, April 29 2004, 06:42 pm

no title

i thought that was very nice
MartinV (4.244.93.221) -- Friday, April 30 2004, 08:42 pm

We share, a lonely, star's warm light, on a quie

Buttney;

Sometimes, there are two of me, one, is sitting in bus, in New York City, where, the lights are bright, but it is a city, without sense-a-tivity.

Then, there is, that other me, sitting along a quiet shore, close to my camp fire, to tell you truth, I don't really care if, I catch a thing.

Seems, the two of us, both sets of my heart's eyes, stare out of the bus, and up into the sky from the quite lake's shore, into the sky.

Searching for the star, that twinkles in our hearts. Why can't it be, the star, you and I see..., why can it be reached, and come down to us and ease our hearts, with its love, instead, of being, what we have become, hearts, searching for it's star, in the evening sky.

This reply, was just a thought, and part, memory born from your poem, actually, it came from your heart, just wanted you know, when you look up at the stars again, we may see each other, looking back and know, like strangers in the star-lit sky, someone understands, you and I.

Don't know for sure, been staring at the sky so long, but this I sahre with, I feel, I may have found my star, hell, she cares more for me, than, I care for myself. If, you care, I'll let you Buttney, if this star, becomes the being of myself. Anyway, hope you find, a star of your own, they are there, but they dissapear, when the sparkle, but they are there and most of all, they are searching for you and me.

MartinV
P.S.
Your poem, well, its okay, like it drives, my heart qua-zy
 
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