Something I did When I was younger While I was feeling good Was I would send my future self love For when I needed it most For when things were just too much I would tap the back of hand And it was sent And to receive it I just had to tap again And though there's no way That a little movement of hand could do so much But it really felt that way At least I was there for me And that was a comfort
I drove to Boston with a teacher and a dealer and a snake oil healer, left family like trash burned it down to ash in a lightening flash shrinks passed me on one to another ****** to stay inside my mind and they rob me blind calm before the storm world's fabric is torn hear God's heart beat feel hell's cruel heat the panic attack I have a bus stop on Mass Ave. I walk miles to my womb my tiny safe attic room.
Steaming chocolate scents the room coaxing me to sink into a soft warm woollen russet blanket with the promise of spicy sienna cinnamon biscuits. Outside the trees prepare to hibernate discarding yellow ochre leaves onto the brown damp forest floor. Crackles from a fire-pit penetrate the window and remind me of the autumn cold. The finest part of a wet, chilly fall day is watching through double glazing.
I fell harder but you fell for another. I loved you but you adored her . I was yours but you weren't mine. I was on your left but she was on your right . I was left behind and you were right there on her side . I was crying but she was dying I shined liked the moon but she blinded you like the sun. I gave you my heart but you gave me your mind . You craved her but I loved you. Yes, It was my fault that I tripped over my own heart and fell till death did us apart but you died with her while she was still in your arms. We still had the red string that attached us to one another so maybe you will find me in the after life and love me while I would not love you.
One day when we are old, Yet not so old that wonder's lost. We'll talk again once more of love, Of loss and wanderlust. While whiskey warms our aging bones Waging war against the frost. Our tales turn to pantheons And the follies of fallen gods.