It's as if someone has stopped the music
and no one has noticed but me.
This quiet is ugly, inside and out,
and smells of rotting orchestras.
That is a theatrical lie,
and an attempt to make you miss me.
The truth is, everything looks the same.
I hear the familiar jaded hum of living
and it smells like coffee and cinnamon.
I am hating the thought
of fading into a life without you.
Break my heart quickly
or love me 'til death
brings that quiet I lied about hearing.
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 2:07 AM UTC
It's as if someone has stopped the music
and no one has noticed but me.
This quiet is ugly, inside and out,
and smells of rotting orchestras.
That is a theatrical lie,
and an attempt to make you miss me.
The truth is, everything looks the same.
I hear the familiar jaded hum of living
and it smells like coffee and cinnamon.
I am hating the thought
of fading into a life without you.
Break my heart quickly
or love me 'til death
brings that quiet I lied about hearing.
Request permission to use this poem