on the brink of finally knowing
where it is going
under the car
over the hill
in the distance so still
i could fill up this paper
before i fill up my glass
because there is a small crack
at the bottom allowing for leakage
and spillage of sorts
regardless of all,
i sent you leaves to make you remember
there was more than disease in your desert
where you still sleep and dream
and eat
minutes
I imagine
i couldn't keep that up, being held back
from gettting my hair wet
there was a new castle on my horizon
and finally realizing a prince was unnecessary
leaves me open for far more ideas
finding the joker likes vanilla
better late than never
is better now when i wear heels even though they make me miss you most.
good for some poems
great for some songs
doesn't equal true love
(or even deep lust)
oh, and that hero is rubbing my face in the dirt each time he walks by with her.
but each broken fantasy gives me more material for armored scales of ink
on my body
he knew that in his heart
alone with old shadows that get darker with light
and he asked to hear it
and i have walked far away from him
jumping from the window
into her garden
where i can truly sleep
until the dew wakes me
at dawn.