Can you still see me

Standing in this dark room

Talking to the memory of you

Your hand is back in my hair

The love is still there

Just like you never left

But that is not my life

I couldn't sit pretty

To let you create a pretty lie

And now I'm here and for all I know..

You may have died.

the playground’s empty.
the factories aren’t.
the clocks keep moving
but no one grows up -
they just get swallowed,
one
        shift
                 at
                      a
                         time.

When the urge
to react to the
tactless clowns,
and
down looks like
up,
and life's teeth
are sharper than
a steak knife,
breathe,
and take a
sacred pause.

neon lights
illuminate the night’s
heavy clouds

while rain muffles
the constant urban humming

pierced by distant sirens
moving slowly
through concrete canyons.