Ridges of great importance telling
the world who I am. I don’t want
them, but here they are. Complete
maps of my being, woven into a
single print. A single set of lines
that are nothing more than
grooves. Grooves that I
do not want.
The fingerprint, which was once
used to catch criminals, is now
used to catch me. And I am no
criminal. Not me. I could never
hurt someone, not intentionally.
Yet here I am, skinning off
my finger pads, because
I can no longer have
I trace the memories kept behind like fingerprints.
The love we had is now crushed and swept away by a wave of
our indolence and insanity.
I go back to the time of sadness,
Because it was the sadness of her eyes the made me
and somewhat sane…
All I have left are the mental photographs of what happened
and of wanting what could have been. I leave now with all the
things that I traced—things that can never be erased
like fingerprints that never
ever had changed.
I sit here alone in this disease-ridden couch, with my
disease-ridden hope. And I will memorize your eyes,
blinking to the rhythm of you heartbeat, dancing in a starlit daydream—as
I am wishing of a memory where you gave me
everything you had
and where I offered you the pieces that were left
I kept all memories of you in a heart-shaped box,
where it is slowly crumbling as time goes by.
I kept all your secrets,
your broken cassettes and cigarettes
our now and always,
your sad eyes and the happiness you had
and which made me smile again.
So maybe fingerprints and memories share a common thing. They say
that “good things happen to those who wait”, I’d say keep on waiting,
shithead, I have been waiting, and still all I’ve traced is
the measurements of my
indolence and insanity. So yeah, keep on waiting.
your fingerprints are on my heart and i haven't quite been able to get rid of them at all
it's been six months and i owe my current boyfriend an apology because fuck, i don't love him
i never asked for these lingering prints and i've tried so hard to get rid of them but tears did not wash them away, and loneliness did not erase them. now im learning that a heart in new hands will not cover your marks either and to my boyfriend, i'm so incredibly sorry, but you're not him
Her hands held on to
His fingerprints on
The other side of the glass
Window that divided them
Left her longing for
A moment to grasp
And cherish him and her
And what they never were
And while she watched
His back turn to her
She conquered the familiar
Sense of holding back
And with her fingers she wrote
The words in the dust he left
On the window. She whispered
“Look back and see” I love you
If you believe naught is naughty in this world,
Why is every crook's fingerprint uniquely whorled?
Nothing works out in the end.
All of us will be gone.
Our name will not be remembered.
The signs and lights will fade to black.
The Hollywood sign will collapse of old age, like us.
Poppies shrivel up, their red coats falling onto the scorched earth.
Grapes transcend into wrinkly sacs of bitter wine.
The way your hand slipped in mine,
the fingerprints will rub away.
Our heart beats slow,
Our laughter evanesce,
as our voices descend past the Pacific ocean.