Cherry Pie, why so down?
Turned your circles into frowns.
Sugar topped, baked to night.
Didn't turn out alright, alright.
Fork stabbed heart, cross roads,
With faces to show the load
Of hot water experiences, cold,
Rough and smooth like Cherry Pie Old.
Your life, made up of bad choices,
Personality faults and small voices
Speak to you through my ear walls.
But you don't care to listen anymore.
Now I feel a little bad that I cared,
About your experiences you never shared,
Except to me, could I have made it better?
A gamble you'd read: forever to never.
Stupid wretch, why so down?
Turned your wrongs into frowns,
Sour aftertaste and unforgiven flight,
Never was alright, alright.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Monday, February 9, 2009
Double White Lines
My stomach's through the windshield,
Imbedded in a tree.
Your heart's been dragging behind us,
Going south.
Where we're together in the country,
Counting dreams,
Look like rivers we used to follow, heart in hand.
Hand in pocket.
My pocket joined to yours just to feel
Steady breathing,
See your words contrast the grass,
White fog.
In the cities counting deaths on fingers,
As cigarette butts,
On footpaths we'd never walk given the choice,
We'd fly today.
How I'd want to lay with this dream.
Grass in windows,
Bodies of green wrapping around our organs,
Pulling us back into the ground.
Imbedded in a tree.
Your heart's been dragging behind us,
Going south.
Where we're together in the country,
Counting dreams,
Look like rivers we used to follow, heart in hand.
Hand in pocket.
My pocket joined to yours just to feel
Steady breathing,
See your words contrast the grass,
White fog.
In the cities counting deaths on fingers,
As cigarette butts,
On footpaths we'd never walk given the choice,
We'd fly today.
How I'd want to lay with this dream.
Grass in windows,
Bodies of green wrapping around our organs,
Pulling us back into the ground.
Blue Butterfly
The sun sets with melancholy.
Wondering what it could have done better,
Or worse.
Small things-
Waiting too long for a statue to move.
Crying along to songs your father used to write,
In the day, it was light.
A music shop next to a hospital.
Where you bought that guitar,
And played that last note.
The sun didn't see;
When you told me turn away,
But in the window reflection I saw that pained expression
Written in tablature I'll play once more...
When the sun can see what I've become.
I remember walking down that sterile hall,
Wishing I didn't have to leave you,
Knowing I could have turned around, and I contemplated it,
Something felt so different then.
And when the sun didn't see you in the morning it wanted to tell you:
It remembers you and
it misses you, more than it missed you in the night.
Wondering what it could have done better,
Or worse.
Small things-
Waiting too long for a statue to move.
Crying along to songs your father used to write,
In the day, it was light.
A music shop next to a hospital.
Where you bought that guitar,
And played that last note.
The sun didn't see;
When you told me turn away,
But in the window reflection I saw that pained expression
Written in tablature I'll play once more...
When the sun can see what I've become.
I remember walking down that sterile hall,
Wishing I didn't have to leave you,
Knowing I could have turned around, and I contemplated it,
Something felt so different then.
And when the sun didn't see you in the morning it wanted to tell you:
It remembers you and
it misses you, more than it missed you in the night.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
