mourning the little love lost between us,
the little left of you i know -
the more i know not to trust
a grin that doesn't fit your face
clothes you wouldn't usually wear
you talk a voice which bleeds white noise
i don't know you anymore
i find faults in friendly faces,
i recognize laughter lines into unfamiliar smiles
my sunken eyes with their well worn stares
my broken bones in their cold armchair
struggling to trust in my memory
recollecting conversations held between these
people who'd never remember me

bearing a face i can barely recall
wearing a body that falls through your arms
i was born with these phantom limbs
hands that can't hold anything
grip that won't leave fingerprints
nothing in my possession
i'll haunt the halls that were held from me
always at arm's reach
never in my possession

if i make it through this winter
then i can learn to live alone
my tea grows cold while i hold it
talking to your ghost
hurt past the point of healing
comfortably numb, but always bleeding
i’d swallow my tongue to keep from speaking
living with your ghost

count your lucky stars
before they’re plucked from the skies
like ships capsizing in the night
like astray cat’s eyes
as we careen from green hills
with purpose and pride
driving through the night
diving into rising tides
count your lucky scars
if you live long enough to heal them

before you’ve even noticed
you’ve outgrown your bed of roses
you’re holding onto omens
keys to doors that never open
you place faith in the wrong gods
black cats hold mass in your street
you let strangers steal your faces
you hear cracks in concrete speak
cross your heart and hope to die
or count your lucky stars

i wish i could be buried in the winter
with the bones of the old hounds
below the broken windowsill
in the garden of my old house
where we grew sunflowers
where i lay through the summers
beneath the swaying branches
wishing i were someone else
home is a hell you keep to yourself
home is a hell you carry

you keep the key to hell on your belt
and you meet me here after work
it’s cold so we sleep with our clothes on
i say mean things until the conversations ends
we sit in silence and wish i were dead

you place your vases neatly on the lower shelves
i let the flowers arrange themselves
we talk over coffee as if we’re old friends
we sit in silence and wish i were dead