Nov 2015
I have spent nights drowning in liquor and the language between us that we never learned to speak out loud
I have underlined the catch phrases
The clues, the insiders, the unspoken declarations
I have swallowed syllables, swallowed shots
Injected my body with the way you sound on the phone when you're tired
I leave my phone downstairs so I can't call you in my sleep
At night, intoxicated and stubbornly confused I am a little less broken
Numb to the humility of unrequited love
Shake hands with cupid in back seats
And talk with him about his aim
When it is dark out, somehow I can still breathe
The constellations hanging heavy over my head offer enough comfort to keep my eyes dry
But I always love you in the morning
More than the morning before
Somehow in my brief unconsciousness, you are still alive
I often wake up in a pool of *****
I am so tired of this endless spiral to no where
I am tired of spilling your name out all over my mattress in a drunken sickness in the middle of the night
Early hours of the morning, before dawn
I recognize my reflection by name but not by spirit
And maybe love is only easy before the sun comes up because it is so easy to find yourself
When you are dazed and drowsy
Worn and wavered
Your senses take flight in essence of the indispensable atmosphere gripping the tips of your fingers
Let the smoke rise, ashes fall
Let the clouds dance over the moon
And when the sun comes up
Dawn creeps in, shadows step out of hiding
I sit up, not quite sober, in recovery of trying to remember how to forget your name
I sit up, giving myself enough time to adjust my eyes
And in just the right lighting I can see the your tall figure standing in my room looking at pictures I've hung on the wall
The paintings, the posters, the letters
I look at my hands
Shaking, cold, fatigued
Fix my gaze on my veins
This is my skin, not yours, and yet you are still under it
I am unconditionally and eternally entranced by your haunting presence
You are a ghost in the night that watches me sleep
But you are only a figure of dust in the morning
Leaving again
I have underlined the catch phrases
The clues, the insiders, the unspoken declarations
I have swallowed syllables, swallowed shots
Injected my body with the way you sound on the phone when you're tired
I leave my phone downstairs so I can't call you in my sleep
At night, intoxicated and stubbornly confused I am a little less broken
Numb to the humility of unrequited love
Shake hands with cupid in back seats
And talk with him about his aim
When it is dark out, somehow I can still breathe
The constellations hanging heavy over my head offer enough comfort to keep my eyes dry
But I always love you in the morning
More than the morning before
Somehow in my brief unconsciousness, you are still alive
I often wake up in a pool of *****
I am so tired of this endless spiral to no where
I am tired of spilling your name out all over my mattress in a drunken sickness in the middle of the night
Early hours of the morning, before dawn
I recognize my reflection by name but not by spirit
And maybe love is only easy before the sun comes up because it is so easy to find yourself
When you are dazed and drowsy
Worn and wavered
Your senses take flight in essence of the indispensable atmosphere gripping the tips of your fingers
Let the smoke rise, ashes fall
Let the clouds dance over the moon
And when the sun comes up
Dawn creeps in, shadows step out of hiding
I sit up, not quite sober, in recovery of trying to remember how to forget your name
I sit up, giving myself enough time to adjust my eyes
And in just the right lighting I can see the your tall figure standing in my room looking at pictures I've hung on the wall
The paintings, the posters, the letters
I look at my hands
Shaking, cold, fatigued
Fix my gaze on my veins
This is my skin, not yours, and yet you are still under it
I am unconditionally and eternally entranced by your haunting presence
You are a ghost in the night that watches me sleep
But you are only a figure of dust in the morning
Leaving again
