A selfish act to want you back
or dwell on memories that don’t make sense.
One day won’t make difference to how I view
the world and go quietly into some snowy eve, break my fall
and then you leave.
Can’t help but want you back,
It’s a movie of my life I’m watching
all the reviews suck
no royalties, no trailers to come; just dumb luck
The return of disillusion- breaks and broken,
couldn’t live without,
“happy holiday”, now go back to sleep
Doesn’t mean the same when the years slip quietly by into the night, or the light-
it’s all darkness and the sleigh bells fall away from earshot:
I drift backwards from the anesthesia drip
might as well be that last shot of hard liquor that cascades across my
To all a good night,
this lonely parched winter…
life has all you need
when you let go
of what you don’t
Are we back to not being friends?
The cycle that never ends,
and remember the time we
couldn’t breathe a single day without??
In & out- left of center, progressed to doubt.
The longest sigh stretched into endless nights
no doubt; there’s no end when second chances are exhausted
into the longest regression you’ve ever endured.
And still, we come back for more.
Withholding shelter, the safety of clenched hands
Singularity, now parallel lands-
worlds we couldn’t possible conceive.
Now my everyday view.
And these words are for me
All the people that pass by
A life we couldn’t possibly perceive.
I have no control over what you think of me
So don’t look back
Just keep moving
We have a ways to go
Deep into the splintered void- where the days of our youth were made.
Our unfamiliar waves cast shades of rain,
now depraved- with no more or less from what was saved.
Floundering under frosted skies,
fleshed into salt from tired eyes.
Peered out into the open road and then threw out everything I owned.
It’s just not easy to talk to you- to look at you, and to only think of two
once the world falls away. What happens when you leave?
The novelty wore off, somehow we made it through the night anyway.
…and numbered days;
Tears blur through these eyes- perennially on the receiving end.
Slipping past the conscious mind
the remains of a conscience friend.
This hurts you more than me… but I have stared down this mirror before.
Suppose the sheen outlasted you.
What love can do.
But it steals the night too.
The morning leaves more uprooted, coffee grounds and drool,
wiped away with only bloodshot eyes to attend to.
Enough to make a difference when I stroked my hair- brittle and falling to the floor.
How pretty I must look in my old age…
It used to be different, staring out the window somewhere around 6th period Chemistry.
What became of me?
The fantasies created aren’t guaranteed.
The phosphor mild under the fluorescence and arid smell stimulating my need to flee.