View Blog    Damaged My shaking, clammy hand around it. A cold, shiny, brass doorknob. I can't let go. Yet know I must. I hold that door closed with my hand. But the door must stay shut on it's own I understand. Beyond the door you sit. Smiling, laughing, behind blue eyes. Thinking I will return on my knees, As I have so many times before. Oh no, not this time, Clutching my broken, patched heart in my hand. I slowly open my hand. Through watery eyes I look. That gift I gave to you, Handed back to me in peices. It can be repaired, But never beautiful as before. A chuckle escapes as I realize, I am but damaged goods. © Andi 2007     Posted by bellaboobaby on 2008-01-27 16:39:39 | Rating: | Views: 51     Email This to a Friend Friend's Email *    Friend's Name*    Your Name*    Security code*    Refresh Image                 Print This Blog Post     Bookmark: Delicious  Digg  Reddit  Facebook  StumbleUpon    Permalink:      Blog Comments    when it comes to love, aren't we all nothing but damaged goods? we think that taking that chance will perhaps kill us or save us, that maybe, just maybe, we'll prove ourselves wrong and it will be worth it all... Posted by  courts  on 2008-01-27 16:53:37  Would you like to comment?     (Maximum characters: 5000)     You have characters left.      Security code:                                                     Refresh Image

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