everything is diluted
run through a steel strainer
run dry
pillow talk is the only talk
ran it’s course
off roadin’
Tag: Lovers
scrapyard
you changed a lot-
all for the better
just not sure who’s
all in an attempt to be better
just not sure,
better than who,
i hope you sit down a write this out
before all that is left
is a scrapyard
of mixed dreams
false identities
wrapped in a fleece blanket,
each step was good
it was your own;
out for the count
fight about me
i’ll sit ring side
run play by play
get mine
while you lose yours,
didn’t wanna be the one
but i’m the one
an it stressin’ you out
want me to take you out
tell me i’m the one
an you hate it-
only stay one night
three nights later we’ve seen
every episode of full house
who’s dreamin’
delivery every night
don’t wanna leave this bed
an you hate it
wallowing in the dry;
living for a challenge
set the difficulty early
left in a gutter
waiting for rain,
like waiting for a god to remember
what they left here
wallowing in the dry
crying for remembrance
at your temple of worship
not to be left here to die,
you’ll get back to me
probably not, but that’s what prayer is for
marksman weekend off
took a chance
missed
story of an archer
quiver at the no
ready for the now
aiming vow
taking a bow
hanging upside down frown
quiet afternoon
arm and mountains;
change the channel
i can’t stand your voice;
the lies stack higher than a mountain
words paved with cement
and sealed with a kiss;
i can’t stand your voice.
i crumble at each vowel
lunchable picnics
i can remember everything
but what you look like
the two dollar dates
photos by the bookstore
lunchable picnics
i remember being there
just not with a ghost
skytopia
the second you leave
i play it again
and again
feel your scent like a thick cloud
i imagine
it’s what heaven is like
full of these clouds
full of today
everyday
checklist
i don’t recall
you being so
essential
tip of every finger
punch of every joke
pillow of every bed,
don’t know when you became a pen
checking every part of my body off,
when did you
become everyday
four o four
chances are
this is the last time i’ll see you;
face wiped away
like steam off a mirror
was never you
just me
alone,
this isn’t a goodbye
just a memory wipe
hardware error
when you speak
four o four
memory not found
had to start this way
fresh start
kind of
expatriation date is still the same
just a new shelf life
Saint's Muse 