I imagine red rain
waking the Maginot line
All of my disdain
falls silver in shame
accordingly

I was caught helplessly
hoping
that the harlequins
would run basking
in the gooodbyes

Standing by the stairway
where I was choking on the promises of hello
a graceless lady stood suffering

Such are the stories that are seldom told
Those that are squandered
on existence
and those that are rejected at the cost of innocence

Were we looking forward
at our past
and found some comfort there
. . . what we imagined there

Bleeding me in the cuts of frustrations
Scabbing the shame
Forgiving the failures
. . . and the pain

always the pain . . .

can't you see

what's it doing to me ?