How did I miss them? Everyday they came. So small, it all just seemed the same. If I noticed without worry, I am sorry. For each microscopic gap, the infinite tiny spaces, Gathering gradually over time. Connecting to make this chasm. Such a painfully intricate distance Between hearts.
Soulmates and lovers and BAEs til the end. They come and they go, So I guess they pretend. They all seem to break When they should try to bend. If you ask me the truth, All I want is a friend. My heart seems to ache, It won’t bend, it will break, Because all that I want is a friend.
Her smile is a Mona Lisa Crash Cart. A work of art that stops and starts The broken beat of my poor heart. Her lips are painting perfect, her smile mystifying, I bet even a single kiss would be electrifying. When it’s briefly, brilliantly, put on display, I surge with desire to steal her away. When I see her, my career ambition Is ‘art critic with a heart condition’, So I can see her defibrillating smile play, As they wheel my body away.
Where do the pieces of a broken heart go
If they’re too fragile to stitch, or you don’t know how to sew?
Are they put back together with some mystical glue,
Or is there somewhere you can go, to purchase one that’s new?
One thing’s for certain, it takes forever in time, Fresh hearts are in demand, judging by the waiting line. Installing a new heart must be hard, I’ve no doubt, But I’m stuck at the part where your insides are your out.
This isn’t really new though, it’s not my first time ’round,
First-timers wait the longest, due to covering fresh ground.
I always ask for Adamantium, for a heart that cannot break,
But they keep giving me a glass one, and no choice but to take.
I never see who does it all, maybe it’s Santa Claus.
If he’s not received my letter yet,
I’d like to add this clause:
“Dear Santa, let’s just skip right to the end,
You can forgo all the material gifts,
If you’ll hurry up and mend
I hate weekdays, They drag us from our bed, Where we could snuggle down together, Keep each other warm instead. The winter morning chill pervades the room, Then together, almost as one, and far too soon, We cast aside the cover, Glancing shrewdly at each other Before competing for first shower, Hot-water, soap, and scour, While the other makes us coffee, With toast all buttered down, Warming frozen fingers, Wrapped in a dressing gown. Humming out a cheerful morning song. Perhaps I don’t hate weekdays all along.
So this is what ‘forever’ looks like From the other side. A lot like broken promises And echoes of goodbye. Like everything you never got But always thought you’d get. Like each forgotten lonely grave Of every childhood pet. The only thing that’s certain is, It looks a lot like loneliness.
Unsure, I feel unsafe.
Former pillars and paragons of my life
Now indifferent to my demise,
Pretend to care just enough
To avoid aspersions and lies,
Potential implications of associated guilt.
The small signature attached to the bottom
Is cutting and carelessly impersonal.
A full stop to the note :
‘If you do it, don’t make a mess inside.
I’m the one who has to clean it up.’
Suicide reduced to an inconvenience.
There are plenty of moments
Of heartache I admit,
Some hurt more than others,
And those hurt quite a bit.
But nothing cut me open
As surely and as swift,
As when you walked up
And handed back all of my gifts.
The ones that had meaning,
Given over years.
But you just dumped them in my hands,
Ignoring all my tears.
I confess not knowing what to say,
Never having felt that way.
You walked away, left me to hold
Rejected pieces of my soul.
I’m dressed to bitch, and
There’s an angry itch
Behind my eyes.
One that says I may be guilty
Of more than one demise.
Imagine their surprise
As I cut them down to size.
My verbal six-shooters hang in cross-draw,
Sights filed down, and furthermore,
With a quick-pull-trigger,
This mouth is set to go off.
‘You’d better run, better run,
Outrun my gun.’
The meadowlark laughed.
Her singular propensity for disregarding
Guilt and sorrow
Made me think of you.
Everyday is such a perfect day
To be down.
Especially days when you’re around.
I try to tolerate such intolerable intolerance,
Given the chance. The circumstance.
It’s not the end
Of the world,
But I still fall
For the straight girl.
Each time you pass me in the hall
I find new depths to fall into,
When all I ever wanted was
Some kind of smile from you.
One meant just for me,
Have your eyes focus and see
Me standing there,
Red faced and feeling small.
You say you like my darkness. Those midnight madness parts of me, The strongest of my threads. Woven through and through, The warp inside the tapestry That weaves it’s wicked web.
You claim to love my darkness, That it makes me who I am. But although you see it every day, You wouldn’t recognize my shadow, Or know which hand I use. We’ve been together for so long, Lovers, and the closest of friends. Maybe one day I’ll introduce myself.
I hope you speak to me real soon.
Hope you come out from your room,
Last time we did this,
We came so very close to broken.
Counting the days now,
Maybe the minutes since we’ve spoken.
Because I don’t want Us
To go and break Us.
We could shake this off.
How did we hate Us?
How did we end thus?
Now all around is just
Space to be apart.
Our togetherness cuts
Bleeding ruins of our heart.
I hope we find Us,
I hope we fix Us,
I just want ‘us’,
Always to be ‘Us’,
Little dove, So many prayers left unfulfilled. Who said you could discover love In the castles that you build With only sand? Never seeming to understand The difference twixt Sea and land. No matter however carefully planned, The constructs of your heart will never withstand The relentless jealousy of water.
Red.. Scattered drops, The orange light of a life, burning. That scarlet spark. Approach Your perfect moment on the ledge. You lied to keep me in thrall, To give us another day without sorrow. But I smell tangerines..
I can tell by your tone There’ll be no picket fence. You try for casual discourses, But I just hear King’s Horses Assembling. Eggshell amour, My only defense Against all your King’s Men. I saw that wall, From which no one could fall, There’s yolk on your hand, For somebody planned The whole thing you see. Humpty was pushed. And now you plan to push me.