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26 September 2010 @ 12:56 pm
i wish i could tell you
my heart breaks for you.
every tear into your soul,
even wounds unspoken,
i feel them, too.

i wish i could tell you
there's no reason to wear such a stoic mask;

your eyes betray you, anyway.

i will never trespass into
those ancient catacombs
where spirits haunt rotting flesh and bones.
but you should know:
i am not afraid of falling into the abyss.
i am not afraid of facing the curse of the dead.

i have already been there.

i wish i could tell you
i love you.
not a reckless sort of love,
but a simple, deep love.

i would hold you against my bosom;
where my arms cannot reach,
my heart will go.
the trip is no longer daunting
when already traveled a thousand times over.
26 September 2010 @ 12:55 pm
i don't miss
staring back at the front door at four a.m.

white knuckles and chewed-up pens
a strangled voice in a crowded room
of poor souls probably worse off than i

i don't miss
nights spent
lip biting and foot tapping
next to a dormant phone

and mornings spent
haphazardly rebuilding
what remained
of an already weathered wall

i don't miss
tug-o-war games
unknowingly being
the other girl

my heart freefalling
and landing six feet under

but i do miss
rhubarb-colored fantasies
incense-soaked sheets
spooning as a prelude to
intricate conversations

the ones with thirty-second pauses
between each sentence

i miss
caffeinated drives to nowhere

cheeky smiles and elevated eyebrows
and how could i forget
that dancing blueberry muffin

i miss
whittling away time
caught in an aura of
white noise
sweet tobacco
and freshly brewed coffee

pretending that
we had something

if only for a moment

but life's all about

i miss spontaneity
i miss life

you were the only person
with whom i could
(or perhaps snore)
in unison

you were
a breath of fresh air

i don't miss you
i don't

(but i do)
26 September 2010 @ 12:54 pm
waves of brown sugar
over resting bodies
three notes
into a coma-inducing confection for the ears
warm rich deep

and incense of old souls
your bedsheets
your clothes
your hair
three things
once found
in the crook of my
trembling fingers

and two
dim lights
peering from underneath the covers
as lips curve north
in the darkness
dim always shines bright

this is how
i remember

i must confess
i hated when you nudged me
towards the door
your feet shuffled
your face buried
and your arms
they ensnared me

i know you hated it more

so trade these ashes
for snow
you'll see the glare of the sun
wash the dirt from
your hands
you'll see your fingertips again

and then
you will know how
you remember
26 September 2010 @ 12:52 pm
We outstretched our hands,
Hoping to touch the sun,
Only to fumble through the fog.
But all is well;
We were born in a haze, after all.
Like ghosts, we disappeared into the white
Noise of a still-sleeping town.
And as we opened our ears,
I heard the joy in your smile;
You heard the comfort in my presence.
A bittersweet sort of wandering, it is,
To be with you;
A purgatory of bliss.
But fear not: we'll find our way home.
No one will ever remember we were here,
But we do.
In the quiet of our hearts,
We remember.
We remember.
26 September 2010 @ 12:16 pm
And the world is in their hands
Sipping coffee and savoring
Every moment
Before the last cigarette is put to rest
In a graveyard of ashes and broken
Exchanging crooked half-smiles and interpreting
The wayward dance of each other's
There is a break
In the dull
Roar once the sun slips past its prime
A lull
That coats their lips
And the world