Oh, here we go again.
let's let morning embraces
slip from our consciousness
and fall into the box of our habits
cardboard walls to
keep in those who care
while love, fleeting, hops the fence.
I can't seem to stay away
from photo frames upon my shelf
kids who capture the romanticists' life
letting dying light ensnare their eyes
and all the while
craving winter's icy kiss.
I think it's because I'm one of them
an unmistakable pale in the cheeks
with eyes and lips a foggy gray,
it's almost as if
we try to blend into the background
because the beauty in the foreground's pain
is metallic like the taste of blood
but sweet as autumn's dewy rains.
Late at night, they're lighting up
my face while I'm in bed
with looks as thin as cigarette smoke
and words as thick as everyday lies
trailing through the darkened bedroom
colliding with the midnight tide,
only to find that I've loved them all along.
In soundproof closets, I hear them cry
with heads tilted back
and eyes shut tight
as they sing to a passing whim
who dropped stars into the night sky
like tears at a funeral home.
I can hear their voices
deep inside my mind.
Heartbroken voices,
deep inside my mind.
When Florence died I cried so hard
but I never said goodbye.
When Florence died I fell apart
oh shit I never said goodby-
When did beautiful get so brutal?
that's all I want to know.
did mothers sob when cheeks hollowed
and feet stopped running to her side
and legs shot up like trees,
a simple breeze swept
them away from childhood homes?
did fathers drop when pretty girls
traded tangled hair for loneliness
red hot heartlessness
was clean and cool
as shorter skirts and party dresses?
When kids grow up something dies.
When we all grew up a good thing died.
