putting the pen to the page
or grasping for the cough syrup
i'd hide my heart in these days
slipped away with yr firm heart
going for the washed up and away
i am not alone, with hands of several halves away
i like my heart made of stars and silly string
with angels of so many used to bes
i like to die, in the days we used to care
and these moments we held knives next to each other
and fleshed out the days spent all alone
i cry to gather the rain drops of a love so pure
the fortified walls of what we will never
and my head lies burried in my pillows,
wishing all of myself away, forever.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
god, i hate the days with out her
silenced, but smiles and a hug...
i recall a day of laughter, a kiss, just something
something more tangible than this self-embrace
i have too many hands, and not enough others to hold
mine.
what will become, of me unbecoming...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
'this is all my hands can touch'
words of a god
that has too many vices
and not enough lovers
lets just take the heart of the hell bound
and fill their heads with shitty dreams and stars that
won't come true
i can only believe in hate
becuz it is always giving me something to focus on
like yr body
dead
on the floor
revolver resting in yr limp palm
is this abstract enough for you?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
words are the only thing we have
don't let me know what you want
yr the only thing i want to see
don't follow yr instincts
wash up after dinner
it is time to eat our regrets.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
'we have to count our blessings'
this day gets measured in moments
like when you passed out from the fumes
or when you cooked up all the cold medicine
before iris came to bed.
with our neighbors regarding us,
as the ones with too many acquaintances
and not enough friends.
the studio apartment gets so loud
and so hot when yr baking.
and i have to keep the passer-byers at bay
when you set the curtains on fire.
at least you didn't burn down out place.
