lovesong for a glass heart

it's dark now, and so many things seem wasted on our crystalline fears and dark centers.

(there's nowhere the sun has not fallen from)

so i believed you when you called out, let myself know it was okay to cry. we don't know the words we're afraid of. so, for reasons unknown, we ask for forgiveness and pray that the day be reckoned with i know the sunlihgt this way. it rips from my skin and casts me, beyond shadowy doubt to somewhere with slothes that smell of fabric softener and lifetimes meeker that we would care to last through. and i want it that way, soft and angelic, the remanant of a dream i never had, the puppets from a play i never read (bring me the summaries i long for)

i knew this was how it would come. dark and self centered. ageless and somewhat plastic. these are the days we don't talk about, these are the lies we won't even tell ourselves. and that feels like summer, without fresh cut grass or lemonade on pprches for our dry throats

just ice boxes full of coloring books, untouched and useless melted crayolas.

cyanide feels like home on the days when it doesn't rain-

i know what you mean, though

i never did laugh at stupid jokes, and wasn't much of a dancer. but i think i know the marks of a woman bent on ruin, i think i can remember a hell where the sun was always shining...were you there, when i need you waiting on the balcony, sweat falling across your breast?

these somber days fall weightless to me now.

but i still believe in the softness of the way you slept...

2003-02-21 | 2:26 p.m.
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