i step on cracks
every chance I get.
and walk slowly
under every ladder.
i only go near black cats.
(they're the honest ones)

we don't light candles
on my birthday.
and fortune cookies
are only good to eat.
(those papers don't mean a thing.)

lights are blank to me.
i will never see a shooting star.
and wishbones
are always,
broken to begin with.

(11:11 doesn't exist on my clock.)

A Grain Of Salt 9/4/11

© 2011 by knownkonvict

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