Some say you’ve
been a part of me for so long that I keep losing myself in my writes.
That all my narratives, my memoirs, my confessions point you guilty.
That subtle romanticism we always try hiding
‘Are you sure you aren’t really drunk’
That all my narratives, my memoirs, my confessions point you guilty.
That subtle romanticism we always try hiding
‘Are you sure you aren’t really drunk’
‘Stop giving
excuses for butterflies in your stomach’
#
Shaking off the burnout, I go up and about, to business as usual, to life.
And just about the corner there sits a blind troubadour with his melancholy violin.
“I don’t remember you paying attention to my recitation really. Why do you have to humiliate me like that?”
“It was the best of the times. It was the worst of the times”
you always spoke, with an incomprehensible nod.
I smiled.
you rascal.
#
The last time I studied my reflection by the greenhouse door.
It seems frozen, urging me not to leave.
Urging me to wait for it.
“by the twitching of my thumbs, something evil this way comes”
“your mosquito repellant hurts my eyes, for the last time….”
once again, the show begs for its life….to go on
#
The line somehow blurred wherefrom we stopped counting our heartbeats, and started sowing moments instead-with you as usual, banking on the fruits-and we never knew one from each other.
“the butterfly farms are where the twilight ends, and you and me begin”
“don’t stop, you have witchcraft on your lips”
#
I tease and whip and brush and re-tease my hair, just to get rid of your smell, and all the while sits on the secretary your voice drenched in our tears.
“it’s all in your head, Alice”
and I sob the rest of the night off.
#
And approximately 8215 miles, 11 and a half hours, a missing dime, and some subdued laughter away, lies a happy picture, sitting on a picture frame, wrought iron, crafts class stuff.
“I can’t imagine what made you fall for me”
“smile with your eyes open, let us not look fat”
#
Shaking off the burnout, I go up and about, to business as usual, to life.
And just about the corner there sits a blind troubadour with his melancholy violin.
“I don’t remember you paying attention to my recitation really. Why do you have to humiliate me like that?”
“It was the best of the times. It was the worst of the times”
you always spoke, with an incomprehensible nod.
I smiled.
you rascal.
#
The last time I studied my reflection by the greenhouse door.
It seems frozen, urging me not to leave.
Urging me to wait for it.
“by the twitching of my thumbs, something evil this way comes”
“your mosquito repellant hurts my eyes, for the last time….”
once again, the show begs for its life….to go on
#
The line somehow blurred wherefrom we stopped counting our heartbeats, and started sowing moments instead-with you as usual, banking on the fruits-and we never knew one from each other.
“the butterfly farms are where the twilight ends, and you and me begin”
“don’t stop, you have witchcraft on your lips”
#
I tease and whip and brush and re-tease my hair, just to get rid of your smell, and all the while sits on the secretary your voice drenched in our tears.
“it’s all in your head, Alice”
and I sob the rest of the night off.
#
And approximately 8215 miles, 11 and a half hours, a missing dime, and some subdued laughter away, lies a happy picture, sitting on a picture frame, wrought iron, crafts class stuff.
“I can’t imagine what made you fall for me”
“smile with your eyes open, let us not look fat”
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