1-4
This is how I will suffocate,
in your adoration.
Hands cover my mouth
while I keep my resolution.
I put my fingers in my ears,
and disappear
before you
tell me, tell me
you love me.
5
Desolate Bungalow
Gravity Paper
Ink Wired
Numb
Perpetual Absence
Unhinged Focus
Lost Wax
Done
6-9
Days, dry as dirt
kicked up in heels,
catch in my throat.
I want them back.
Tomorrow, better yet-
today, I will stop
rushing away. The distance
between here and the deserted
has been
forgotten.
Washed up,
I am ready to devour those days.
10-13
I am dead in a box in the center of the room talking to everyone or no one can hear me or they neglect to listen because I do not say what they want to hear or I make no sense to anyone but myself because I am only speaking to someone a million miles away from where I am at present they cannot hear me or I make no sense.
14-17
I am out of corks
with a barrel full of holes.
The relief will not stop;
resentment pouring and filling
the cracks in the walls,
plaster caked in puke green,
painted over in pink
for all the world to see.
Friday, November 12, 2010
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