consolation prize
is the rolling of your eyes.
had a gift to give
but you gave me away
a wire-tapped fire trap
i was pushed into
(the shapes feel shapes feel sharper in the dark)
and you did your best not to know
how it felt to fall, again.
well, it's a simple little pain
but all the same, you're some
great distance away,
a mile or more, next door to
a boring boy,
this town where words
mean little more than air
(where you couldn't care)
how it feels to be brave, never.
if i wasn't afraid, i'd cross this
street alone but
if i was afraid, i'd never
leave home.
won't pretend to comprehend
what you're selling me,
senseless sentences to
dull my wit, no
you can have them back.
where the air meets your face,
mine are the darkest days.
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