Feb 2014
I'm afraid, tearing from my elbows slung across my brow. You will never hear this song, whose fortuitous rhythm drapes me in its steps; where the drums and the melody beat inside my chest. Each and every day, every wakened hour, even through the night, when asleep I think about her, and between the weeks, on the top of every year, I still think about the reason I left and went to college. Chicago overthrows me, and everyone I know keeps 12 steps from where I go, sees me dressed in blackened clothes, but I'm over in a moment, except when I am stolid, or kept in twilight's throes from a choice I haven't chosen.
Here I am, but- I'm not moving. Each hour awake is a reason to stop going. I am weeping, you can't see, every lover I have had has left me be.
The silence tears me- opens my chest, even my own hands threaten the way in which I live. If I were music, I'd be our song, the lyrics build a place for a home where I belong.
San Francisco finds me out, California picks on me, every person that I know, pretends they don't know me. I'm awake when you're asleep. I'm the point in which you drag, you're the effort that I make, for the best I'll never have.
15 miles could be 5,000. Your pleasure could be my poison. I can't leave what I don't have, and I can't grieve although I'm sad. I write three letters unsigned and sent, "Dear You, I miss you, please come back." I wait for phone calls that don't come, I hear the rings that don't happen. I talk to ears that don't hear me, and wait for the silence the hours bring.
I use pronouns that give names envy, and keep the letters that you had sent me. I am happier but you can't see, "Dear You, I miss you, please come back to me."
Here I am, but- I'm not moving. Each hour awake is a reason to stop going. I am weeping, you can't see, every lover I have had has left me be.
The silence tears me- opens my chest, even my own hands threaten the way in which I live. If I were music, I'd be our song, the lyrics build a place for a home where I belong.
San Francisco finds me out, California picks on me, every person that I know, pretends they don't know me. I'm awake when you're asleep. I'm the point in which you drag, you're the effort that I make, for the best I'll never have.
15 miles could be 5,000. Your pleasure could be my poison. I can't leave what I don't have, and I can't grieve although I'm sad. I write three letters unsigned and sent, "Dear You, I miss you, please come back." I wait for phone calls that don't come, I hear the rings that don't happen. I talk to ears that don't hear me, and wait for the silence the hours bring.
I use pronouns that give names envy, and keep the letters that you had sent me. I am happier but you can't see, "Dear You, I miss you, please come back to me."
