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dean-1Poems
it’s not nearly as romantic as you’d thought; watching the world burn having it crumble under the weight of your gaze           but here we are, the lucky ones beneath the gallows,                                 and we’ve got front row seats to the end of     the earth itself. this acrid, unbreathable smoke is in my         eyes and         ears and         lungs and  slowly pumping through my         blood                      can you taste this desperation when we kiss?     am i the only one who feels this            sitting on cinders like it’s the hood of my car   and wishing we could see through the haze? i’ll miss the noise, the feel of     cities rushing     two-lane highways brushing along my                  well-worn and weary tires and you’ll miss none of it, none at all                                                  because you’re dead                                and you’re difficult and he’s wearing your face but it doesn’t matter. none of it does.   kiss me again to drown out the screams. i want another           shot at life, but it won’t happen now:     another car, another motel, another rushed fumble out of our borrowed ties and IDs and lives                   but all i’ve got is you and your coffee’s getting cold.                           you’re not him but i can pretend with my                       eyes shut -                                          just don’t leave me with the wreckage. you are my morningstar                                  and i’m haunting you with life.
0
Sep 22, 2012
Sep 22, 2012 at 9:13 PM UTC
let's do some living after we die
it’s not nearly as romantic as you’d thought; watching the world burn having it crumble under the weight of your gaze           but here we are, the lucky ones beneath the gallows,                                 and we’ve got front row seats to the end of     the earth itself. this acrid, unbreathable smoke is in my         eyes and         ears and         lungs and  slowly pumping through my         blood                      can you taste this desperation when we kiss?     am i the only one who feels this            sitting on cinders like it’s the hood of my car   and wishing we could see through the haze? i’ll miss the noise, the feel of     cities rushing     two-lane highways brushing along my                  well-worn and weary tires and you’ll miss none of it, none at all                                                  because you’re dead                                and you’re difficult and he’s wearing your face but it doesn’t matter. none of it does.   kiss me again to drown out the screams. i want another           shot at life, but it won’t happen now:     another car, another motel, another rushed fumble out of our borrowed ties and IDs and lives                   but all i’ve got is you and your coffee’s getting cold.                           you’re not him but i can pretend with my                       eyes shut -                                          just don’t leave me with the wreckage. you are my morningstar                                  and i’m haunting you with life.
Written by
dean-1
American
Sep 22, 2012
Sep 22, 2012 at 9:13 PM UTC
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