I wonder,
do you still try and file
every particle of skin
left under your nails
from the nights we spent alone
Listening to the subtle tune
or the bands we once flavored
alongside at an absolute.
I wonder,
Do you still try and dig in the dirt?
The dirt that grows outside the window
I'd sometimes sneak through on those late summer nights.
(Do my footprints still remain?)
Do your hopes remain focused
on the act of dirtying the smell
of the daisies,
I had pressed in my hair
To a far a place
where all thoughts of me
will become the remains.
The daisies you dug through
with the skin under your nails
Hopefully leaving the faint smell
Of the flowers that use to lay in my hair
under your nails
alone in your mind,
a constant reminder,
of my ongoing memory.
(I did exist)
Or are you planting the stems
You've plucked right from me.
From the underside of you nails
planting them in the ground
In hope of a sprout to appear
of a new "daisy girl"
Or are you simply trying
To mask the thought of me
From coming to anything,
Anything less than a halt?
Is the nostalgia,
really keeping you up from your thoughts?