It’s 1 AM
You’ve gone away
I shouldn’t care
It’s too cliché
I’m waiting for you
Planning my next move
Why did you do it?
You broke a rule
Now I can’t help
But think about you
It was innocent
How did it turn into this?
Help me think things through
If you love me then I love you
Help me think things through
Put your mind away
I’ll toss mine in the gutter
Let’s speak of simple things
As if we were together
It’s out of hand
Prepare for crash-land
Do you deceive?
Et tu, my friend?
Don’t lead me on
You’ll meet your end
(I’m not so strong
But please do play along)
Help me think things through
If you love me then I love you
Help me think things through
And though you’re hers
And I am his
I hope no pain
Shall come of this
It only hurts
‘Cause I didn’t tell you first
And so I know
I’ll remember a time
When you cared about me
And I wished you were mine
Help me think things through
If you love me then I love you
Help me think things through
Reddish blue and déjà vu
Help me think things through
You gave me a reason to show up
I gave you a compliment
You gave me security
I gave you my homework
You gave me a reason to laugh
I gave you a suggestion
You gave me an onion
I gave you dry eyes
You gave me a reason to smile
I gave you a crude illustration
You gave me a look
I gave you less homework
You gave me the time of day
I gave you a story
You gave me a dollar
I gave you a piece of my heart
You gave me a reason to stay sane
I gave you my burden
You gave me some time off
I gave you a sideways glance
You give me a reason to wonder
I give you my nothing
If you’ll give me a moment to burn in Heaven,
I’ll give you a second chance.
Filed under: Bittersweet, Experimental, Good Writing, Non-Fiction, Reflection
broken treetops glow
in the orange morning light
broken and alone
In this box
Three by four
Alone with the sky and you
I hear the sounds
Of the hour
When I melt away in you
I hide away
From cats & dogs
From the blinding pitch of night
I lie down
And close my eyes
And drift into the light
You carry me
You carry me
To the white white birds above
You carry me
You set me free
When you’re all I’m thinking of
Your tranquil tone
Persistent beat
Your rapping at my soul
Rescue me
My one true love
You almost make me whole
I’m not here. You see that girl? She’s not me. Just flesh and bones and blood and tears, not a girl. No. Not really.
I’m not really here. I’m at home. I’m in my room and it’s Spring. It’s warm in here and I’m playing a record. I still have the bunkbed I don’t appreciate. I’m playing a record and laying on my bunkbed that I don’t appreciate, trying to read the lyrics to the song before “The Guns of Brixton,” but I’m too tired and the seduction of my fluffy white blanket is too great. It’s so soft and comfy and smells like childhood. The yellow incandescent light from the sun through the closed shade is warm and comforting. I close my eyes and succumb to the sounds of the Clash and my breath and I drift to sleep. I’m not here, I’m there. I’m warm and happy. So happy that I want to cry. I just want to cry, leak emotion. I think about where I am. Where I really am, not this place. I think until it hurts and then I think some more. Until I’m numb. If I think hard enough, as hard as I can, I might just slip away, slowly fading to nothing. . .
