We as Humans

Edges.

And I'll always be here
scribbling faded font
just pretty enough.
Seeming indifferent.
Rumpled neutrals
running fingers through hair
pretending to be ignorant
not caring enough to fight.
Smearing pen ink
dog earring pages
Drinking something
just complicated enough
to be cliche.
I'll always have paint stains
lame stories
old bands.
Cold hands.
Here waiting
to be a memory
of a faded image
paper machéd
into a idea.
Just pine scented candles
and smart sounding books.
Like beach glass
all the real ness of me
all the edges
worn down.
Just wrap me in wire
and wear me
like a necklace.
A token
waiting
in the back of your mind
still the same
for whenever needed.
Not allowed to go on
but never
to be truly come back to.
So maybe I'm fine
in grey tee shirts
and coffee breath
never to be real.
Just here
a flawed puppet
dangling
from breaking strings.