manuel of la brea

59

tissues

and the tissues that wiped
away my destruction
served as my pillow
on those nights
i couldn’t sleep
but it was so nice
that you didn’t leave.

i was so full of mistakes.
so young, i lamented life.
so helpless, i lost wars.
and i allowed myself
to write a book about death
even know in the end
i’d be the one to grieve.

midnights were longer
than i thought they were,
but you didn’t
disappoint my lips,
coloring them
with trust,
joining me
to erase the memories
that the heart
has a hard time forgetting,
and decaying my belief
i was the one.
the only thing you said was
i’ve been there too a few times.