| three hundred and sixty-six i am lucky sick. ugly duckling lips. you lick your chops. consummation of a bed left untouched with a hard-candy kiss. i'm better than this. i won't feel bad when you tell me the things i don't need to hear. i'm bitter glad wrapped up in this goddamn year. why am i so sentimental? why am i so sad? why is there something you looked for in my bed. when we neglect to mention feelings of neglection. you mention my silence i mention your pretension. you mention things i'd rather not hear. then little drops of hurt fall from my ears. you lap them up in silence, recycle them for food. you feed off my mistakes as i once fed off of you. we don't trust each other with secrets, so you might trust me with lies. how will i ever know for sure when i can't look you in the eyes. Tried to last night- burned a hole in my heart. Burned a hole right through the cigarette hole in your hand. i got burned you said and not far from the truth. the actuality of a night- and the singularity of my sighs- showed nothing more than silence as i looked past the sky. i looked past the clouds. i looked past the stars. i looked past the moon and i looked past his arms. i looked past my lifetime. i looked past the years. i looked past the second-chances overwhelming my tears. so i'll pick up my voice, mailing my words, justified in seclusion and weary of self-defense. i'm looking at my reflection and drowning to death... |