Sunday, April 18, 2010



How soft I must seem

when you mistake my off white skin

for a bruised canvas

reflecting misguided passions

from a place I can not remember

I will not wear this skin

the way your mind sees it

Maybe I seem cold

when I casually speak of death

or disregard tears

falling quietly on shoulders

that bare lonely hearts and forgetful years

I never mistook death

for a reason not to live

Words turn to lyrics

when music replaces a lone thought

and makes melodies

of sincere accidental progressions

or your calculated decrescendo

I dreamed you back to me

and the choir sang our song

The obvious pattern breaking with your heart

as you attached yourself to a dying sun

falling from a sky so far away

We are the only witness

1 comment:

Kara Bibb said...

If I were a leper, I would totally get that party started.

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