Thursday, February 25, 2010

The Static On The Line

Don't talk to me like you know me. Talk to me like you love me.

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

The Tick-Tock In Your Chest

I will hold you so tightly and carefully when I see you again. Like crystal. Or an atom bomb.

Monday, February 22, 2010

The Bed Of Clocks

I never slept that well next to you. But at least I slept.

Sunday, February 21, 2010

The Falling Ash Reminded Me Of Snow

So you wrote words on the walls of the prison. Never noticing that the paragraphs became cages. Each sentence, a bar. Every word, another lock.

Thursday, February 18, 2010

The Black Ink In Their Eyes

The problem is you think poetry is about words. But the greatest poets I ever met, never wrote a single word.

The Fragile Alliances

Sometimes I can't work out if you're a friend who wants to talk to me or an enemy who wants to take from me.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

The Forgotten Star

You keep telling me to be glad for what we had while we had it. That the brightest flame burns quickest.

Which means you saw us as a candle. And I saw us as the sun.

Monday, February 15, 2010

The Laughter Stopped You From Crying

If you can pretend as hard as I'm pretending, this can be the first time we've ever met. Not the last.

Sunday, February 14, 2010

The World Leaning On Your Shoulder

You know all their stories but none of their stories know you.

And you've felt all their pain but their pain has never bothered feeling you.

So you take their medicine. Even though you've had too much medicine.

Friday, February 12, 2010

The Slipstream We're Caught In

If time takes me (and time will take me), I will come back as a single feather.

So please come back as a breeze.

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

The Memento Of Past Promises

Hate doesn't work like love.
You have to remind yourself to love.

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

The Way They Used To Make Them

The way there are no clocks in casinos and whenever you walk into one, the people in there are the people who shouldn't be in there.

The way supermarket aisles are designed to be confusing and no one in their right mind would put laundry detergent next to dog food.

The way economy class seats on an airplane could easily be more comfortable but they want you to pay to upgrade to first class.

The way everything you buy is designed to break so that soon, you'll have to buy a new one.

The way the whole world tries everything in its power to break you too.

The way you refuse, under any circumstances, to show the slightest crack.

Monday, February 8, 2010

The Prisoner Of War

If you find this, you are the second person trapped inside this heart. I do not know how long I have been here but I have tried to leave it as I found it: Dark.

The Place Where You Get Off

Outside the station, she stands with her child on the side of the street, taking pictures of cars.

You think she's insane. Until, one day, you notice that she's taking pictures of the license plates of the cars her child gets into.

Because you look. But you do not see.

And she walks out the shop with bags full of cat food. You think she's some crazy cat lady until you find out, she has no cats.

Because you eat. But you do not taste.

It's been a while since their last album but he assures you, he's doing just fine these days, white flecks in his nostrils. Then he asks you if he can spend the night on your couch, even though it stinks.

Because you sniff. But you do not smell.

And they say "Just OK" when you ask them how school was. Then you wonder what they're hiding until you find their diary and the last entry reads "I wish you'd give me some privacy."

Because you listen. But you do not hear.

And they've got a bruise over their eye and you run the tips of your fingers over it and ask them how it happened. You believe them. Until it happens again.

Because you touch. But you do not feel.

And they walk past you everyday, one million stories, each waiting to be told. Waiting for you to ask.

Because you live. But very few, love.

Thursday, February 4, 2010

The Bystander Picks Something Up

I'm with them because, despite everything, I still love them. And while you might walk in and find me punching a wall, it's only because I want to kiss their lips.

There's no revenge here.

Love doesn't hate back.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

The Shape Falls At Your Feet

Maybe it's because you're one of those people that believes that sometimes, the most reckless thing you can do with your heart, is not being reckless with it.

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

The Feathers Fall Slowly

Maybe you don't know them like I do. Maybe it's vengeance and maybe it's love.
Maybe they're smiling at other people the way they used to smile at me.
Maybe they've grown tired of drinking light like water, late at night.

Or Maybe, they're just tired. You don't know them like I do.

The Birds Throw Themselves Against Office Windows

And if the only reason you're still with them, is to make them pay for all they've done to you, the question remains:

Why are you still with them?