cold wind in blonde hair,
dew like rain on light lashes,
a different kind of water
than the tears standing there.

i should have picked a better day,
one with sun,
warmth.

she is strong,
but water always wears down stone.

it rains,
she breaks.

christopher find me.

sweat runs
and salt lingers
in seed and spit
in the moment just ended.

i retreat to the only place I can.
she waits for me patiently
outside

she has all the time in the world.

i was treed.
naked, right next to her
no where to go,

she and the words waited.

if pain is my reality
let me drink it straight.
i'll rely on the toughest parts of me
to hold me up
the bone, the sinew, the gristle.
stiff raw material
indifferent to the soft language of
the heart, the soul, the guts.

when they look at me
i imagine i can read the script that scrolls behind their eyes.

it tells tales of devastating devotion
and a love that's close to madness.

they turn away from me
and i am left to suffer the rewrite of their blank indifference.

she was done.
i was not.

she wanted out,
but i held the door.

frantically i watched the last
grains of our time together
pass through the twist of an hourglass
and everything i ever wanted to say
rushed toward my teeth.

my mouth went dumb
in the burn of her heatless fire.
that cold dimming light that told me
she would listen,
but her heart could no longer hear.

all i could choke out was a feeble

"...please..."

it passed through her, bouncing
off the wall and rolling back
to my feet.

she turned to leave,
and i was left with my
single pathetic word
still begging
from the floor.

it's night
and there are only
two sounds
in the room.

a staggered, humming,
wipe
of running cars,
and a plastic fan
who's chipped blades
struggle for breath
in a wall facing window.

thoughts echo,
take your hand, and
lead you places
you know you don't want to go.

it's quiet
but at times
overwhelming.
night rushes in on all sides
only to stop at the window,
held back by a single shaded bulb.
the childhood nightmares that
hold the sill
drool, grind their teeth,
wait for the inevitable dark.

a train passes
somewhere far off.
blowing a lonly note,
proving to the world
that it still exists and
is hard at work.

it sparks the mind
to chew nervously on
bitter retellings
of histories half remebered.

the bed,
blood,
and heart have run cold,
while the two beers by the bedside
have gone warm.

time stretches out into forever,
yet somehow still maintains
the very real threat
of swallowing things whole,
and coughing everything up into
a dreadful tomorrow.

i can't.

i want to say that i won't
but it wouldn't be true.

if i, instead, say i can't,
i can easily conjure up a choir of whys.

can't pull at you.
can't bust things up.
can't promise greener grass.
can't promise to stay or
that you won't regret
decisions made.

i want to.
so badly.
but i know with you
i am wont to want
so, i'll stay with can't.

i'll turn cold,
i'll steele, and i'll
remember the multitude of whys.

hurry home sad blue eyes;
before a storm brought on by
why not
whips you free and throws us
both
into unpredictable winds.