Between cold sheets and muffled giggles,
I remember whispering a harmless
little sentence whilst the
dead of night struggled to live:

"I've never been more sure of anything else in my entire life."

only to end up empty hearted
and empty handed
hanging on for dear life onto
the last plank of our broken bridge.

Needless to say, you lifted four of
my fragile fingers with a slow precision,
ending me off with my pinky to make sure
I watched you break the rest of our promises.

gd

There's a pulsing in my head I can't seem to shake off
and it always beats to the rhythm of your breath.

& because of this I can't seem to pick up
another black or blue pen for my life because
it still leaks the words you told me;
still leaks the words that used to be true.

& I think that's what baffles me the most:
that words remain in the moment - just like pictures
and carved wood - but as time passes by they
lose their meaning and fade away like dust in a sandstorm.

& there I sit, right at the eye of the tempest
waiting for the pulsing in my temples to subside
in the dead of the night with nothing but
the silence to keep me company and the chaos to keep me warm.

gd

I'm running on
black coffee and
a couple faded
dreams all for
the sake of some
promising future.
But if we would
all just be honest
with ourselves,
we'd realize that
promises were
solely made to
be broken, and
another cup of
coffee will only
make my dreams
disappear.

gd