I could call you Molly
With the way you came into my presence
as an orchestra that played the melancholy lullaby of a cello and the sweet pings of a piano
with the velocity of sound waves filling up my head
But as the grains of sand fell and the seasons brushed along our skin
you became a drowned out child’s rhyme
A whisper in the eve

Truth is all perspective
As is friend and foe
But to say,
at best,
your words could be perceived as anything less than the hot air of an air balloon would be a stretch a contortionist would struggle to achieve.

(C) Tiffanie Doro

Consistency is thinning with the sun
Our minds crawl-
Yet  race on overdrive inside our homes and out in the damp streets.
Simple static,
A mental block of conscious
spread by word of mouth from one disaster to the ****** birth of another.
Another bag of bones,
Clanking over our shoulders-
With heavey arms to bare with
Another gust of wind full of ashes and crowds all dressed in black with their throats in knots.
The words inside our mouths burn as they leave
There is a kid with a guitar on the outskirts of it all.
Watching in as the faces drain from the bodies in the streets.

So he began to sing.
He sang about shades of grey
He sang about the spaces in between
And he sang about the heart that’s been thrown among one person’s beliefs to another’s lack of.
He strummed until the sky turned a shade of blue which resembled his mothers eyes on the night he learned what strength and will was.
As the wind hushed,
The crowd began a melancholy motion,
with their backs turned to all that was
Some with new sight and others in disbelieving disgust.
But one thing held constant-
though time had been tampered and irreversibly changed
They all hurt the same
Each mind had been scrambled like eggs

(C) Tiffanie Doro

In a room full of things unspoken
She felt like a satanist in a Catholic Church as her lipstick stained his vest.
But she was a saint at best
Never lived to taste this kind of distress
her heart like a murmur but she was slipping off her dress
And he,
With his claws in her chest
Loved what she kept from the rest
He viewed her as a masterpiece
The kind that raised each strand of hair on his arms
A mind thats never truly been discovered
Traveled by the fickle and the blind
He asked her is this corruption or free will?
She replied with a kiss of her stained lips and a whisper of words into his ear,
the context of which he has always feared.
His questionable behavior hid him from the embrace he couldn't bring himself to allow
Always running back to her
To the one he let in
The only one he holds value to
He knew one day she would hold the title he was so afraid to feel

(C) Tiffanie Doro

A novelist of aces
Behind the cover of abstract designs
It gets deeper than what is behind eyes
Enclosed is a map only the two of us could understand
Certain minds are condemned by the world
But the keys your fingers stretch to reach steal the breath from my airways
The grammar is skewed but it’s all the same
 
Boiling beneath your skin
What’s been refused to pass your lips
Weak tongues won’t form the letters written on our souls
You and I,
We’re just ignorant to the nonfiction cloaked between these lines
Like Beethoven’s last quartet,
Muss es sein? Es muss sein! Es muss sein!

(C) Tiffanie Doro