You're half asleep and he's
already gone,
maybe out painting portraits on
other girls' skin, who were too lucky
and too unfortunate to fall for him.
You're half asleep, you're too tired to deal with
the ache in your bones
so you cut corners like
scissors gliding over the contract
that asks you to be strong;
because one way or the other,
someone is falling down tonight,
and you're going to get bruised either way.
You've never been able to keep this at bay
you've never known how to
be casual,
how to let things go
how to treat things lightly.
It's wrapped around your fingers but it isn't what you're looking for,
you're looking for
a way out of this place, a home, a desert
a rendezvous between yourself and the thought
of cutting ties with your own damaged sentimentality, because
it always did you more harm than good, anyway
and you don't need baggage where you're going.
Lay yourself down in that desert and look at how
the constellations form, paint them
on your skin and dance to their music but never
ask him why; never
find yourself missing the boy with the warm lips
because if you do, you'll
flesh out another million contracts between yourself and the world,
you'll make ties and forget
what those mean - you'll get lost and you'll
never leave.
Apr 7, 2018
Apr 7, 2018 at 6:02 PM UTC
You're half asleep and he's
already gone,
maybe out painting portraits on
other girls' skin, who were too lucky
and too unfortunate to fall for him.
You're half asleep, you're too tired to deal with
the ache in your bones
so you cut corners like
scissors gliding over the contract
that asks you to be strong;
because one way or the other,
someone is falling down tonight,
and you're going to get bruised either way.
You've never been able to keep this at bay
you've never known how to
be casual,
how to let things go
how to treat things lightly.
It's wrapped around your fingers but it isn't what you're looking for,
you're looking for
a way out of this place, a home, a desert
a rendezvous between yourself and the thought
of cutting ties with your own damaged sentimentality, because
it always did you more harm than good, anyway
and you don't need baggage where you're going.
Lay yourself down in that desert and look at how
the constellations form, paint them
on your skin and dance to their music but never
ask him why; never
find yourself missing the boy with the warm lips
because if you do, you'll
flesh out another million contracts between yourself and the world,
you'll make ties and forget
what those mean - you'll get lost and you'll
never leave.