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| and i still think about you,
still want to talk with you,
no person alive could ever...
and i try to stifle that,
because i can't stomach that,
because no person alive could ever...
but one thing i can say to the boy on the other end of a frayed wire,
wondering what he ever did so deserving of deserting,
yeah, me too.
yeah, i loved him so much, more than he loved me back,
and no person alive could ever...
| | |
| while you pray to undo me,
you pray to exhale what's in my lungs-
and to fill them with your breath-
you pray to kill me.
you pray to steal what i bled for.
(the poem i've been dying for all along)
and tonight is just that night
when i'm ready to disband.
i need an eraser
so that i can erase all of my feelings
because whether i want them to or not,
i'm hurting someone.
what i touch
inevitably dies,
and in fact
winces in pain at that touch.
and so the failure becomes evident all over again,
and it's hard to breathe or to speak again,
and somewhere, that's what someone is praying for,
because he wants my heart...
something he can not even begin to understand.
and the hand i'm holding
becomes a grip that i'm losing,
words that aren't easy,
hopes that are weak,
a God that i can not see,
suddenly the world seems so against
everything i do.
the world seems to scream bloody murder
at my best intentions.
so this is the night
to disband,
to say i'm done for now.
hold off happiness for another lifetime now,
hold off.
a love song will always cue
the breaking point tomorrow.
so don't sing love songs.
in fact,
do not love at all.
what is this paralyzation?
i'm behind a closed door.
there's no place on earth i can hide from the wrong i've done.
my best friend bears the guilt,
and i could take that guilt
and i could add my own-
there's your paralyzation.
there's the quiet, and the pain, and the lack of affection, too.
this arm i held on to today,
will fold his arms,
and will walk away as if to lose the trail of a stray dog,
who, like you, stranger, got the wrong idea that love is something to trust in.
i'm miserable in every way.
tainted
and dishonorable
and more than able to spew my filth on all that i adored.
| | |
| i'll say it
as if
any one is really listening.
i'll do it
as if
no one is really concerned.
i'm the one to blame for october, and what's worse,
for all of it. i'll take that, and i'll reap with it, sleep with it,
until it never ceases to hurt.
i think i'm there.
this time
there will be no bed side attenders
holding the frail little hand that quivers.
this time
it's mine.
this time it is a sober sort of thing.
a foot in the water, testing, and then entirety.
the rest of me.
i'm sorry but you'll have to hear the same old story i've been telling for ten years.
and after that, the losses,
disconnected
disconnected
disconnected.
i will tell you that i've disconnected,
and it wasn't even on purpose this time,
but to be expected. i'll hold my breath, while you count my crimes.
| | |
| you just stay there
and i will stay here, not standing, but managing the mornings and the work day.
the inspiration i'm struck upon is rigid, but it'll do.
like a drunken stumble over the black and white keys, just able
to say what i need, and to flail out my ribbons of disconnect, frayed ends
that float in the static,
and reach for someone sympathetic,
but can not tie, dear God, can not trust themselves for the slightest friendship.
in the spine is traveling a verse, and an old one, no less, well rehearsed
of people
run
in circles
it's a
very
very
and so the endings
end when i've stopped playing
and i manage the morning
without even reaching,
but the fabric torn pieces and string, without static,
are following me... and spilling stories in thin black lines as i walk along.
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