Worry stripped
The bones away
And everything left
Was rotten.

And she cried out most theatrically,

"My spirit is with you and it is carried in the endless lows of your negligence."


What she meant to say was;

I feel as if;

I am the sleep you wipe from your eyes in the morning,
Or,
I am the ripped and stained pants you throw out,
Disregarded.


She carried on,
but to herself,

"oh, How dejection stings!"


Like the tearing of skin but duller.

You could have waited,
he thought,
until I was more
than day old alcohol
and the bags under
my eyes,

To say things
that would have made me
fragile
at the best of times.

He carried a
two litre bottle
of the cheapest cider,
Semi-hidden
under a tattered coat lapel,
So desperately,
That
It looked as if
He was shielding
The heart of lover,
Too heavy to bear.
And he made for the exit
Like
it was salvation.
The cashier just looked on
And thought
To himself, with pity-
How the bad goes
With the bad.

She left the room
and his eyes burned
with the disappointment
that will end
the world.

Embarrassed
and uncovered,
he poured himself
another glass of wine,

It was
too late
for anything else.

and she said she'd miss him,
in the smallest voice,
with sincerity that silenced
the world.

And she said;
“They’re just scratches,
not deep cuts.”
 
Just the remnants of the itch against it all.
 
“Silly really.”
 

Silly.

And she swayed as she stood.
 
Her eyes flashed vacant.

we drank wine in the bath,

And Your cheeks blossomed rose
with

Nakedness
and alcohol
and

your hair became
free, and
It was

as if
you were born right there,
whole and white,

our own
Mediterranean.

And
As I stared
and drank

you slipped

Down,

Beneath the water and said,

"I can see you well,
Just now."

My pencil's getting short,
And it's a shame,
Because its been worthless
to me so far.
I reckon
By the time I have something meaningful in mind,
I won't even be
Able to hold
The thing.

I swallowed the darkness
And slept the night
And half the day.
It won't be shaken easily.

And the privacy
melts away
between
paper walls of skin.

Hope grasped him in hot arms,
and whispered,
 
 
Either, I’ll fly away in fits of laughter,
 
Or I’ll leave you here,
Bloodied, on the floor.
 
He cried back,
 
it didn’t matter anyhow,
 
The seconds are infinite
Until you do.

Can't someone stop
   This marching of seconds,
It would be nice not to feel
    So wasteful.

She wore Shock
On her face,
As beautiful
As words.