six month silhouettes
living, breathing store mannequins
young & dumb
hands intertwined
barely visible through the morning light. iridescent.  
it's ninety degrees but its been raining
ever since February
and we just now addressed
the cloud hanging above your head.
darling take a moment to listen,
i wrote a book
for you.
it talks about conquering fears
i thought if i read it to you every night you'd no longer be afraid.
but you still wake up in the middle of the night screaming
and you have every night since  
so I left the book out in the rain
and I left my disappointment chained to the front porch like a dumb old dog
figured there was no point
in letting him sleep in the bed tonight
sadness already sleeps at the bottom of the bed and hogs all of the covers
and there's is no waking up from this
at least I don't think
because i've tried more then once to help you but
you tell me its time to go
tell me its all my fault
and i'm trying to keep it all together
but i am just a soggy book
left out on a overcast february morning
fingertips stained in ink
im caressing your cold cheekbones
trying to wake you up
from this perpetual nightmare that is your life
hey. i love you. has anyone ever told you that.
did you forget me so soon?
the ink is
running all over the page
in messy
zigzags
like a frivolous dancer
tripping over her own limbs
dew drops form on the spine of the book
drip
d
r
   i
p
dripping
in un-dimensional direction
like the leaky faucet
in room 47
at 2am
you drive me off the wall
with your soft mouth talk
i cant stop thinking
about ways to show you that there's more out there then this pain that feeds under your skin
and festers like an open wound
just tell me where to touch to make it all better.