i don't write words anymore.
i just contaminate melodies
and it all blends out
and around it bends.
and i give you letters
cuz i long to spark your
pupils, dial-aided, soft version
of conversational anarchy,
trite inspirational flags
abandoned on the corner
of martyrs and victims.
the world always crashes
down, frozen in pixels,
fingerprint decadence,
the ever-dwindling mortality rate
of angels safely concrete.
i can't write words anymore.
i complicate melodies.
it's just me, noticing you,
hoping you're happy, in brief
pauses, on the edge of this line,
where you smile at poetry
and laugh at memories
and moments, painted
in distorting key strokes.
i won't write words anymore.
but i offer you melodies
and hope to shift the stars
and perhaps this distance
between us.
