Velveteen and closed with slim metal clasps
Laying on the seat next to the edge of a dress.

Let me slip my hand inside to find
Nothing but a $100 bill that isn't mine.

The car comes to a lurching stop
I pay the cabbie and get out to walk.

A few coins and an aching heart
Linger with the clasp's top apart.

My silken dress swirls around my knees
At the bottom of the stairs of apartment three.

One single step leads right to the next
Velveteen catching my ragged breath.

The metal clasps held firmly closed
As I knock on the door to fill the hole.

Stolen bills and velveteen held close
And the door unbolts…

But metal clasps remain closed.

You may believe in your fictitious destitution,
You may be adrift in your false desolation,
You may be wandering a path of solitude,
And you may be drowning in ignorance.

I am occasionally condemned as such.

Our isolation like a xerox.
Synonymous of withdrawal into one's self.
Not uncommon, even cherished.

Individuality becomes enveloped.
Becoming our own worst enemies,
Among a sea of monochromes.

Exposed complexion,
Defined blush,
Vulnerable iridescence.

Recognize a promise to identity.

There is a watch inside my head
that ticks along my aching hand
and longs to write forever words
that will be my lasting curse.

Don't look at me like that.
Don't look at me at all,
In fact.
For petty wishes fall down.
Into water that I stand in,
all around.
My shoes are wet and torn.
My feet cold and numb,
so forlorn.
While I stand in your gaze.
Cold and hot and ruthless,
It never strays.

And the rain still falls.
My jean jacket soaked,
But standing tall.
I look up with defiant eyes.
And you meet them,
Smiling wide.
The battle still rages on.
I grow more numb,
Standing strong.

You hope to lead me.
By bending my will,
My lifetree.
Yet you don't understand.
See this seed right here,
In my hand?

I will plant a new one.

One to shade me,
from the blazing hot sun.
One to shield me,
from the rain and flood run,
One to deafen me,
when you loose your silver tongue.

One to teach me,
To escape your endless gaze,
and my own scrutiny.

I have mixed feelings
With the pencil in my hand
Am I making a mistake?
Is this where I stand?

I feel pale and blank
Like a canvas unpainted
Figuratively dumb
In this strange situation.

For whatever reason,

The words to explain this...
simply...

Escape my grasp.

Like grains of sand pressed too roughly
against my palm.

It leaves an imprint
Like a scalding memory

Across a hand that loses...
everything.

From the soul of the passion that burns in me,
The time my eyes have been open to see,
Every last ounce of the tragedy,
That blooms like a cherry blossom tree...

Where my only redemption is
A broken,
half-hearted apology.