cassandra-millam
American
On monday nights you'll find me filtering my heart through lungs over tongue and teeth. / To a disinterested firing squad whose shots of bourbon and vodka I fall quietly beneath. / Perhaps my voice is unlovely, my pen the victim of my shakes. / But my left handed lyrics I'll sing till my cords break. / The ink well and sparrows on my side, metal in my face. / For so long a poor rendition now I feel I'm well portrayed. / Saddened by the people, who never dreamed as a child. / But just as I was born in music, they were born in suit and tie. / What I cannot tell you plainly, I hope you will gather here. / Just the pieces, just the fragments, as the whole cannot make clear. / You'll find me more between the lines and in the margins on the page. / Just one more face in the crowd aiming for the stage.
As I tossed you in your carboard coffin
Pieces of you I loved too often
Now shelves for dust and feelings softened
By time and intrusion
And lack of exclusion
Of the wickedness in you
I marveled at each fragment laid to rest
Photographs that caught you at your best
The scent I breathed while on your chest
Now I see your smile is lopsided
And the cologne you once prided
Yourself upon now reeks of decay
An imitation engagement ring
A crass, tinfoil, pitiable thing
Your last bid to try and cling
To a disenchanted free ride
Exhibit A to say you tried
To be half of what I deserved
A love letter in invisible ink
Clear for a moment till the words sink
Like a stricken ship upon the brink
So worn and frail from frequent view
Shoddy proof that you loved me too
A poor Exhibit B
Your faded tee I found comfort in
When doubts crept in of where you'd been
Now the costume of a man of tin
There is no road for you to follow
You have a heart, metal and hollow
For you, there is no place called home
For someone who seemed so central
This tiny box makes you seem incidental
Perspective for the seemingly monumental
You would fit nicely in the attic
A burial I cannot find tragic
I won't even need my black dress
Theres nothing worth embalming to preserve
Two strips of tape and to the curb
A resting place undisturbed
Till the grave robbers haul you away
You're no ones treasure, just trash today
A garbage truck is a proper hearse
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 9:09 AM UTC