"toothbrushes" poems
In the burning right hand of the bald city,
denizens frame calories and count instagram blessings
while beacons of hope refund inspiration in USADA *** cups.
Abyssinian maids wail over yesterday lovers
who wore Ginsberg’s skirt with less pizzazz
and watched bedbugs **** blood off knee caps
wondering, what if Jesus Christ drove a Nissan?
As bullets of paragraphs fall Vietnamese pesticides on my head,
The dusts off my breath sing homilies
With letters of broken leather whiskey,
For even in the most dishonest jest,
clandestine toothbrushes are overrated
and every first false lie is the only truth.
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 8:02 PM UTC
I'm not one of those people
Who can bury that itch,
So very down deep
That they can't even scratch.
Certainly, most days, I'm satisfied with Me,
Just can't seem to be satisfied with Just me.
I want four hands, not two,
And four feet, covered in warm woolen socks between sheets.
I want clamoring voice from a throat that's not mine.
I want two heads, two hearts,
Two toothbrushes.
Different length hair in the shower
(You clean it out)
Accidental-shrunken work shirts
Cussing fights while I finish the laundry
Surprise apologies later.
Nights of scheduling compromise
Days of scheduling compromise
How many sick days can we skip work with?
I don't need some long-distance,
Not-a-relationship
Just-friends-with-benefits
********
I cannot hug me
I cannot bury my face in my chest
And just breathe.
My arms don't reach far enough,
And I get a crick in my neck only to find that
My shirts just smell like cheap soap.
Not looking for marriage.
Ten years until kids.
Maybe a dog later on.
We'll walk it together, and you can bag the poo...
It could be I'm just too addicted to ***
Or maybe I wear too much lingerie.
My corsets and evening gowns show too much of my flesh?
I know too many good random subjects for conversation?
My **** looks too good.
Your **** looks too good?
Pick one and tell me,
So I can find that one thing
That keeps the timing from not lining up
Or lets me meet men that aren't married, or
Under 18, Under 21, Under-able to carry out a conversation with words longer than 2 syllables.
I probably won't even see it coming,
That day when I find that someone who satisfies Just Me.
But for now, can I please find
Someone to just satisfy me?
Oct 14, 2010
Oct 14, 2010 at 7:24 PM UTC
(Circa 2008)
I wonder of living in a life, in a home,
scattered with open books rewriting the future as it unfolds.
With no empty picture frames and nothing wasted on a blanket of dust.
Bliss, relaxation, and a comfort you can trust.
Two toothbrushes and an unmade bed fit for the sweetest.
And no matter what, knowing that everyday is the best day of my life.
Jan 19, 2013
Jan 19, 2013 at 4:42 AM UTC
Our eco-friendly toothbrushes sit together in the cup on the counter but today I didn’t brush my teeth. The snow is great. Want to know why, because the snow doesn’t give a **** how anybody else feels and it doesn’t ***** its feelings all over twitter. The snow knows that nobody cares.
The snow never says “anyways” or “whatever” or “oh god” and the snow doesn’t undermine what I have to say. The snow is cold and it ***** but at least it doesn’t question me. It doesn’t ask me if I need space. Nope. It just keeps snowing.
The snow and I are on good terms. It isn’t polite and it doesn’t try to be anything that it is not. It doesn’t cook barley with kale and it definitely doesn’t pretend to like it.
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 2:31 PM UTC
Two birds flying at night crash into each other
and as they spin falling from a cloud of feathers and starlight
they are reminded of a time before they learned how to fly...
Will we fold into each others secrets
would we fit each other like a spoon
won't you take my hand and chase stars with me
we'll catch them if they fall
and bury them in the backyard of our childhood dreams
so we can always find our way back there
Chase the shoreline
fly with a flock of airplanes
we'll signature the moon
as we dance our footprints upon the clouds
swim with me through an ocean of bed sheets
and Sunday mornings
and we'll chase dinosaurs from our bedroom
The warmest place in the world is next to you
let me sip coconuts in your arms
won't you plant my name behind your tongue
that it may bloom in a garden of your smiles
We'll find a beach to name after our children
and serenade the ocean as it refuses to stop kissing the shore
we'll use toothbrushes as tuning forks
fake a limp at new years eve and ride the elevator to the highest floor
and dance with me above the skyline
'cause if you sing me a lullaby of forgiveness
I will keep you from all the broken promises
we can finger paint sunrises on each other skin
Be orphans with me
so that we can name each other
the way we once named the stars
as if the constellations held the promise
we could find our way home
Aug 7, 2015
Aug 7, 2015 at 2:56 AM UTC
d-i-v-o-r-c-e
spells 'the end'
the end of all things
the end of crinkle-eyed smiles
the end of early morning kisses
the end of late night giggles
the end of bathroom break tears
the end of raw vocal chords
the end of resentment
the end of love
d-i-v-o-r-c-e
spells 'new'
new start
new house
new freedom
new tears
new loneliness
new love
new life
d-i-v-o-r-c-e
spells 'i give up'
i give up on cleaning up your ***** cereal bowls
i give up on picking up your clothes
i give up on our queen-sized bed
i give up on two toothbrushes
i give up on two bathroom drawers
i give up on sharing a closet
i give up on sharing a life
i give up on you
d-i-v-o-r-c-e
spells 'give it away'
pictures of the life we shared? give it away.
that queen-sized bed? give it away.
four bedroom house? give it away.
circular piece of platinum? give it away.
diamond ring? give it away.
your love? give it away.
d-i-v-o-r-c-e
spells 'without'
without pain
without anger
without anxiety
without snoring
without kisses
without hands
without guidance
without a friend
without you
d-i-v-o-r-c-e
spells 'too'
too far
too bad
too sad
too much
too late
d-i-v-o-r-c-e
spells 'goodbye'
goodbye, my love
goodbye, dear old friend
goodbye, *******
goodbye, bane of my existence
i wish you all the best, but
goodbye, my friend
Aug 30, 2017
Aug 30, 2017 at 7:35 PM UTC
Today I found your toothbrush
Sitting in the same cup as mine
I stared at it
Remembering that you were
Here only a week ago
With a bad case of morning breath
And my toothpaste tucked in the corner
Of your smile.
Hesitantly waking up
I stared at it
Remembering that you were
Here only a week ago
My concept of time
Now revolving around the way
You touched me
Only a week ago
The way you loved me
Only a week ago
This toothbrush
This blue toothbrush I bought from the dollar store
Brushing along the tremors of my
Uneven breath threatened to
Defeat me
Threatened to put me back to sleep and
Try again tomorrow
Resolve the reoccurring bouts
Of sadness tomorrow.
But instead
I looked at it
I looked at your toothbrush with a certain familiarity
I looked at your toothbrush with a sincere smile
And remembered that
I was lucky enough to share my space
With someone
Only a week ago
I was lucky enough to fill my room with
Comfort and soft conversations
Only a week ago
I was lucky enough to
See you again
Lucky enough to touch you again
Lucky enough to bother you again
Only a week ago
And for the first time
For the very first time
I looked at everything I gained
Instead of my impending losses
My expired emptiness and hollow thoughts.
Because I realized
Only a week ago
The entire world unfolded itself in front of me
And gave me
Two toothbrushes.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 5:32 PM UTC
I cough and laugh and smile with thoughts of you,
I remember that bit of annoyance that would break your lips,
that shift in your eyes.
It's been almost as long as we dated.
What did you think in September? I forgot until it was October and
then I realized and thought;
where are you and what are you up to
I've been listening to artist and songs that you showed me,
I like them more now, a sort of time machine.
I think of you when I ********** not every time.
Just when I'm feeling sad.
I think of you when I make eggs and when I use my laptop
I think of you when I see anything of Beauty
I think of you when I see a chihuahua or a golden lab.
When I take acid I think of you and get so **** happy
and I just wish for you to be happy
and I wish for things to be okay
and I wish I could just say hi
and I wish things weren't weird between us.
And maybe it's not.
I stay in this house and see what could've been,
some altered dimension
with pictures of our friends and family on the walls,
dog beds covering the ground.
Our toothbrushes in their chargers on the sink.
Your Halloween decorations still up;
I bet in a couple of months it'll look like
The Nightmare Before Christmas on our porch.
I have no idea what will happen in the years to come;
I just hope you're doing well.
Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 5:42 PM UTC
i.
last week you were sitting by your window watching the sun melt into a thousand shades of darkness and you thought of her. you still remember how she always smelled like lavender and roses and peonies and freshly mowed grass and rain - a living breathing walking talking singing dancing growing but ever so slowly dying garden. you suppose she must've smelled like cigarettes as well, since she went through a pack a week, and the whiskey she laced her coffee with and the teabags she used as toothbrushes, but all you can remember is the garden of her mind and the green of her thumbs that planted flowers in-between your ribs and turned your blood to a breeding ground for aphids. a single lotus flower can live for a thousand years. a single memory can live even longer.
ii.
on the train ride to paris she didn't think of you, instead she counted all the prime numbers from one to one thousand and kissed a boy with oceans for eyes. you came home to an empty house in february, a receipt for valentine's day roses still fresh in your wallet. all of your belongings were still there, tainted with the memory of her - the set of calligraphy pens she got you for hanukkah, the sweater of yours she would always wear in the mornings after *** while drinking coffee and filling out the crossword. the endless number of bobby pins she'd left in your bedroom were still there, littering your floor like land mines. you found the flowers she planted in your veins tossed in the trash, and you spent hours pulling each petal from its receptacle and deciding that if she'd ever loved you she would have chosen something gentler than forget-me-nots to sew into your veins. the seeds of a lotus flower must be cracked before they can be planted, must be broken to allow the water to seep into them and breathe possibility into their veins. your heart is cracked, have you blossomed yet?
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 11:07 PM UTC
Wander from Argyle Street towards the pyramid shaped monolith
past the oddly named Benny Hamish - Sicilian Couture Tailors -
through the automatic glass doors of persuasion
up the revolving stairs of many stairs
sail by the portly security guard
(who looks like he'd be out of breath after a 10 yard dash)
along the imitation marble airstrip
passed neon facades and signs for proactive self indulgence
toward the carousel of smoked-mirror lifts
that take the well heeled to their desired destinations
without having to worry about their Chanel leather clutch bag
and newly purchased Christian Louboutin shoes
and I sit people watching,
writing this poem on a borrowed napkin
with a discarded betting shop pen
amid a horde of timid stomachs and twitching wallets
faced with a thousand fast food offerings
and gaudy coloured tables and chairs
littered in the remnants of repugnant non-ecological eateries
and Styrofoam cups and re-composite cutlery
under Noah's grotesquely beautiful steel ark
lined in industrial tubing and chrysalis shaped netting
and giant Art Deco toothbrushes
and 30 foot wiggly mirrors
and stretched rhombus sails
acting as a blanket barrier
to the blue skies and arched sun of the outside world
somewhere between
KFC and Burger King.
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 7:25 AM UTC
Arachnid fingers
picking at my heart
like the peach pit
torn from its soft, sweet home and
swiftly discarded.
Stuck to the side of a garbage bag,
perhaps one day it will take root
in some far off landfill and
grow into a clumsy metaphor
for beauty
amid heaps of ****
That girl
with the cotton candy colored hair at
the corner of Fourth and Chestnut
struggles
with four garment bags.
Where the **** is she going
with four garment bags?
I see her every day,
sweating,
shifting her burdens
from arm to shoulder,
then back to arm.
Except when I’m running late;
quarter past whenever.
At least tomorrow is Friday
when we can all gag on our toothbrushes.
The privilege of a clean mouth
should come
with some discomfort.
Mar 17, 2016
Mar 17, 2016 at 11:31 AM UTC
Big
Red
Empty
But not for long
Socks Rapidly shot in
Just like a basketball at the buzzer
Boxers next
Shoved and forgotten
Undershirts crisp and white
Blanket the bottom like snow
Colorful shirts
Folded and at attention
Mimick a soldier at ready
Are deployed in
The warzone
Long pants
Almost forgotten
But, not quite
Athletic shorts
Scrunched up
Ready to jump at a moments notice
Swim shorts are strewn over
As a makeshift barricade between
Regular and
Fancy
Comfortable
Collared shirts
Zip
Unzip
Another pocket
IN go phone chargers!
IN goes computer charger!
IN goes deck of cards!
As fast as the eye can see
Zip
Clip on
The black bag of magic
Toothbrushes
Toothpaste
Dental floss
Retainer case
Last but not least
The most holy of holies
Deodorant is
Gingerly, gently slid into place
All Effluvia of
The Travelers Trade
Zip closed
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 12:29 PM UTC
The warm soft coral petals on the face,
sheltering the delicate eye tissue underneath,
no longer flutter open,
to see
the many signed divorce papers on the mahogany desk in the home office,
the Bon Jovi tickets in the right hand pocket of the J.Crew pants,
the facebook profile of the attractive girl online whom were predestined to one of those tickets,
the letter of resignation hidden in the black briefcase,
the guitar that was pulled out of the garage hanging in his office,
the numbers of old bandmates on the coffee table,
the disappointed faces of the family and friends, and
the lengths taken in the pursuit of happiness.
And yet, he lies there knowing that, he misses
the sky,
the sun,
the stars,
the moon,
the variegated leaves in the fall and spring,
the wheel in the front lawn tied by a rope to an sturdy branch,
the cerulean colored house that was painted by cheap labor,
the fat cat lounging in the parkinglot of his workplace,
the boss that threatened due to an inferior complex,
the punk the daughter was infatuated with, with the waned colored skin and dyed blond greasy hair,
the plain-Jane daughter and her defiance of his authority,
the stepford wife and her arguments about misplaced toothbrushes and
the co-worker and his chiseled face with an inquisitive smirk of all knowingness.
And he realizes that now.
Nov 15, 2011
Nov 15, 2011 at 1:30 AM UTC
My earliest memories of you
are leaving to work somewhere else
and coming home again, drunk.
Passing out in the bathtub, fully
clothed and mom screaming. Drink
to your hearts content. We’re not fools.
Cherubs in witches hats, candy,
and cartoon characters knocking down
the door. Finally, our cries are heard
and ‘round the neighborhood we go.
Rosy cheeks and toothy grins we are
oblivious. Later, still superheroes
eating candy still not separated,
you hulk smash the door and swoop
us into the air. Your breath smells of hops
and chewing gum. One look at mom,
who’s long given up screaming (much)
and my baby-faced brother and I know
bedtime is coming early tonight. Time for
toothbrushes, teddy bears and silence
strong enough to shatter glass.
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 3:07 PM UTC
i'm not afraid of moving cross country -- i'm afraid of the leaving, of untucking myself from this pocket of america i call home; my hate has cultured so well here, snapping threads and poking holes for breathing. the dirt under my nails from all the times i tried to dig myself to somewhere better is as much a part of me as my lungs, my brain, my heart; always be-be-beating to remind me to keep going.
to keep looking for loopholes.
i'm not afraid of moving cross country -- i'm afraid of tucking myself away in a new pocket of this country, far, far away only to realize that i hate it there as well; only to snag my nails on new threads, only to find myself sharpening toothbrushes when i'm nervous, only to dig holes in myself in my sleep. i'm afraid of losing my pulse, that be-beat-beat.
but mostly, i'm afraid of never losing it.
Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 2:32 AM UTC
During our last move we made
sure to pack:
all the paraphernalia, both
toothbrushes, most of our clothes,
old pictures, broken ashtrays,
tools we didn't know how to use,
the computer, both cats, commitments,
all the shot glasses, a bed,
and your unsolved Rubix cube.
It all fit in the car.
We left behind the couch that
one of the cats ****** on,
the shower curtain liner, every
working Bic lighter, your sanity,
the Monopoly game, two new
pens, one old pen (no ink)
and a bag of marshmallows,
plus one hell of a mess.
During the move we misplaced
our sense of direction, a suitcase
full of only my clothes, logic,
and a globe that doubled as a
lamp.
***** given?
Zero.
We still had both cats.
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 10:39 PM UTC
Back when I was a real girl I bounced
in the hallways licking my popsicle.
Back when I was a real girl
I smiled from the inside out.
Back before toothbrushes
became my best friend.
Back when food was normal.
When I could close my eyes without
seeing monsters and nightmares.
When I liked myself.
Before any of the mean girls
decided that I was going to be the
rock in their pile of diamonds.
When music was
meant to make you happy.
Before the world messed me up.
When I was a real girl
I never thought about death.
When I was a real girl my
mind never went this deep.
Now I smile just from the outside.
Real girls don't have to sleep
with their eyes half open.
But I do
Because I'm not a real girl anymore.
I changed a long time ago and there is no way back now.
{SM}
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 3:13 AM UTC
I was 12 & my sister was 9.
As children with my dad we grew up fine.
Until the day my "mom" kicked him out he lived in his van.
Then she decided to move in a child molestor man.
If we were out with our friends after 5:00 he beat with his belt.
Abuse, fear, & hatred is what we felt.
He disrespected, abused, & ***** us.
He was an infectious disease he did as he pleased.
My sister told her teacher.
The police or paramedic never did reach her.
She died several times.
She is still alive....us he has not returned to find.
I couldn't save her she was 9 & I was 12.
He told me if I tried to save her the same thing would happen to me.
He tied "my brother" to a chair.
With a rag over his face he poured water there.
I think he tied, gagged, & locked "mom" in a closet where she peed herself for I don't know how long.
He said she was at work but her purse was still there so something seemed wrong.
"My sister" he spent hours punishing her by strangulation & recessesiation repeatedly because he is sick.
No body wanted his ****
He strangled & killed the dog next door.
For the next three years or more.
All three of us became his *** slave ******
"Mom" got him a loaded gun even though we were poor.
He would **** on our toothbrushes.
As soon as we fell asleep to **** us to our beds he rushes.
He would spit in our cereal.
It was unbelievable.
Abuse & evil inconceivable.
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 12:16 PM UTC
I filled my gas tank to 33 dollars and 33 cents
and told you it was for you
because it was your favorite number.
I organized our belongings
(white t-shirts—books—toothbrushes—
baby, this is where we keep our sweaters)
as if using the word “our” would embed myself
into what you call home.
I bought flowers from a homeless man
because you are a botany major.
I wanted to bring them to you,
wilting and loveless, and show you how
I can nurture something worth saving.
There is a five-finger scar above my breast.
There is an orchestra on my neck shaped like your pulse
from all the nights you held me the way
you only hold something slipping.
There are 6 states
pressed like stubborn flowers
between the last time I kissed you and today,
but you still feel like a sound caught in my throat.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 11:21 AM UTC
She hadn’t packed yet, just wouldn’t, stamped a foot, flat-
out refused. Her fingers wound around blades of grass,
and she tugged, ripping them from the ground.
She’d take them with her, in a jar, so that the fireflies,
they’d have some food on the trip down south.
And as she crossed state lines, she shook the jam jar, and the
golden rim rattled along with the gravel roads.
But before she reached North Carolina, they were dead,
little fallen comrades, “I Spy” companions, and night-
lights. Now there was a Ramada, and a Hilton, and a scratchy blanket.
And she kicked it off and sat upright in bed and
dripped with sweat, because it was July.
The air conditioner rattled, spat out must, and Mama snored.
During the day, the suitcases opened their mouths, swallowed new belongings,
an alligator t-shirt for her,
a neon yellow sundress for Mama,
socks and flip-flops and toothbrushes and underwear to replace
what was left behind in their hurried packing.
Mama didn’t cry herself to sleep anymore.
She just drove and drove, and her eyes stayed dry,
and her arms weren’t black and purple,
because there was no more screaming, and no more sirens–
just singing.
*“It’ll be all right, baby.”
“It’ll be all right.”*
Even though they were dead, the fireflies sang from the hotel balconies,
and the greasy fast-food chains,
and the new apartment in Florida where Daddy could never go.
Nov 30, 2010
Nov 30, 2010 at 1:52 PM UTC
*I
There was a whiskey bottle
sitting on the back corner
of the living room
it laid shattered and broken...
empty ****** wrappers
and ***** stains sat on the couches
while the floor reeked of ******
and the walls were plastered with *****
A shattered picture frame
lying in the middle of the floor
with a single drip of blood....
I made my way towards the kitchen....
II
Flies sat on moldy bread
while sour milk sat with mushy cereal
the meat laid in the sink...
the only thing you could see was blood
The refrigerator was empty....
a silver spoon sat on the stove
rat poison was in the pantry
next to a broken syringe
Rats scurried in the garbage
the bowls were filled with dead roaches
the doors was torn off its hinges
I made my way towards the bathroom....
III
The sink ran brown water
rusted razor blades with dry blood
the mirror was shattered
broken toothbrushes laid in the background
Feces smeared on the flood
the toilet was broken in two
the bathtub with its lonely drip
a broken water main
The walls weakened by punches
smashed by hammers
and mixed with mildew
I made my way towards the bedroom....
IV
Two corpses lying side by side
one with her throat slit
the other with a bullet through his head
the hands touching gingerly
White powder on the dresser
clothes scattered and set on fire
a bible by the bedside
and a rope hung from the rafters
The mirrors were smashed
black smog filled the air
a chair in the middle of the room
We all were dead.....*
Feb 27, 2016
Feb 27, 2016 at 12:47 PM UTC
Greetings from us at Homeland Security.
We hope you had a pleasant journey.
But keep in mind there's no guarantee
That you won't exit on a gurney.
You should love our border camps,
Which are still progressing in stages.
We have “subdivided rooms.”
(We don't like to call them cages.)
We strive to stifle criticism.
Please ignore our critics' lore.
Doesn't everybody love
To camp out on a cold, hard floor?
We provide you with a blanket.
What? One is not enough?
Crowded rooms should keep you warm.
Exposure to germs will make you tough!
Lest you feel our detention centers
Are too uncomfortable or stark,
We leave the lights on for twenty-four hours
Daily in case you're afraid of the dark.
What? You say you need a doctor?
Come on, beggars can't be choosers.
Toothbrushes? Toothpaste? Soap?
Those are just for wimps or losers.
We all want your stay to be
Just as pleasant as we can make it.
True, some have died, but they’re
The weaker ones who cannot take it.
If your kids were taken away,
We don't mean to disrespect you,
But since only God knows where they are,
Then we'll let God reconnect you.
Locking kids in windowless
Warehouses in our recollection
Is a way to offer the kids
Security and protection.
If perhaps you’re seeking asylum,
One little thing might give you pause:
The president is working on
Ways to change asylum laws.
We know the whole idea of camps
Polarizes, or causes a schism.
In figuring out what to call them,
We prefer the euphemism.
So, enjoy your stay until
The powers that be decide your fate.
If you’re lucky, you’ll get a shower
During your long, protracted wait.
-by Bob B (6-24-19)
Jun 25, 2019
Jun 25, 2019 at 9:00 AM UTC
there was once a place in the sun with your name by the windowsill.
it was on the freaking sun and you still complained it was cold.
it was all i could do but pace around wondering what was wrong with you.
i called the doctor but he couldn't find you.
you whispered in my ear "I'm invisible harry",
i said "stop calling me harry....you know that's not my name, now let the doctor see you and stop wasting our time".
-the doctor prescribed me some pills for the voices and set up a follow up appointment.
**** you..
now the doctor think im crazy and i still worry about you....how can you be cold on the sun?
you said the reason was you didn't FEELMYLOVE.
i thought you could FEELMYLOVE just fine.
i was giving you enough wasn't i?
you said "there's never enough to give, Rudy why wont you look at me?"
i couldnt look at you........"i think your ugly" said I.
but even still............you should FEELMYLOVE
after awhile i decided we should give the moon a chance and made proper arrangements with our travel agent to move there.
you said you didn't want to.
i said "what do you want"
"i don't know"
"if you don't know what you want, how can you know what you don't"
"i don't know"
"you don't know anything"
"i know some things"
"what do you want from me, why cant you be happy"
"i have no idea"
"so what else is new"
"i want to die"
"don't say that.......I............I think i love you......"
"no you dont, you never have"
***** you"
"wow, i can really see how much you love me"
"im packing my things, im leaving tomorrow with or without you"....
THE!TRAIN!FOR!THE!MOON!LEFT!IN!THE!MORNING
and the
i ride
was was
the and long
only and
one I
on missed
it you
by the time i got to the moon i new i had made a mistake...
indeed, i forgot my toothbrush........everyone knows you can only get the best toothbrushes from the sun....silly me
i stayed on the moon waiting for her.
but she never came.
and i cried
and grew old
all alone
on the moon
and i knew if only we could be together now...
she could FEELMYLOVE
Nov 28, 2011
Nov 28, 2011 at 5:07 PM UTC
your shoes next to mine on the rack,
our toothbrushes in the same cup,
the way I know your coffee order
without even having to ask.
sadly,
the good things never last.
Feb 21, 2023
Feb 21, 2023 at 8:21 AM UTC