When you sit
Amongst loose-knit rubble
Like a halfhearted apocalypse
With your hands out,
Fingers splayed
As if to say, here,
Here are my pieces,
Weave me back together,
I will just stare through
The hole shaped from inky dusk
On my horizon
Etched when you escaped
Into a pinpoint of skyline,
Trying to remember
The sensation of liking
The person you love.
I don't want to hurt you,
But conniving with empty palms
Will not wrinkle your spine
Enough to make you see
That standing up straight
Was never the point.
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 6:09 PM UTC
When you sit
Amongst loose-knit rubble
Like a halfhearted apocalypse
With your hands out,
Fingers splayed
As if to say, here,
Here are my pieces,
Weave me back together,
I will just stare through
The hole shaped from inky dusk
On my horizon
Etched when you escaped
Into a pinpoint of skyline,
Trying to remember
The sensation of liking
The person you love.
I don't want to hurt you,
But conniving with empty palms
Will not wrinkle your spine
Enough to make you see
That standing up straight
Was never the point.
