she used to say
the number twelve
smelled like pine
outside~
one chirstmas morning
12pm
i knew what she meant
~
it’s twelve days till your birthday
i remember that night;
tragic vandal
we’ll light
a pine scented candle
in your memory
Writing, Ideas, & Stories
she used to say
the number twelve
smelled like pine
outside~
one chirstmas morning
12pm
i knew what she meant
~
it’s twelve days till your birthday
i remember that night;
tragic vandal
we’ll light
a pine scented candle
in your memory
i remember you
differently
a quiet one,
now
you yell from the highest mountain top
whatever happened
i’m happy
i love your voice
i haven’t
seen your eyes
shine
the way the did tonight;
i captured
every second
with my two lenses
before the night ended
i don’t remember
yesterday, the way i did
yesterday
it’s demon time
breathing fire
above a bar
on a wednesday
morning
it wasn’t the first time
or the second
or the sixth
or the last
it was the time
in my dreams
i could never forget
i talked my way out
of something
real
that i still remember
like it was yesterday
i think i loved you
now
i think
i wanted to remember
you
tragedy strikes in three
in the head
the belly
heart~
i saw her
again
at a coffee shop
downtown –
we met
each others gaze
before she met
the inside
of her sunglasses