Sometimes you know that you
were in love, and you had to
let go. Inside a taste, or a smell, some
herb or spice inside the wood

of a joining never to have been.
Sometimes, I can only know what my
tears on the tiled floor mean, that I
don’t know, so much more than

certainly nothing. Only that

I fall, and that hurt is not to feel
anything through. Did you know, there was
emptiness locked out the doors of what
our kisses used to mean?

Silent words and my moving tongue
speaking for you. Always and endless, alone,
but no fault of your own. All that you
knew was all you could do and were able

to avail. No notion of me holding back
my self restriction and suffocating lovely dearest
aching pains. The push of that drug, rosiette goggles
creeping into every little vein, administration

rules to a ******* of theme. I stripped
away the childhood and then the future
of my illusions, staring into the blank, eyes a-wavering.
Sitting on the cold tiled floor, that I am little

more than nothing, is all I really know.


© October 25, 2012