Thursday 2/02/2006 12:31:00 AM

It's dark, but I can see better since. Close your eyes and look. We're not young enough anymore to tell ourselves these lies. So if it's the truth that we must have. Then let it have us. That's its loss. Not mine.

Aren't we. Weren't we always. Just us. As little as that is. As much as it could've been.

Turnstyle hearts. Making change for. Selling tickets so expired. Counting stops.

And I don't know where we are. Or were. Colored chalk. It doesn't fit.

It leaves, but I don't know why. It wanted to. Why I let it. Or couldn't stop it from forgetting what I must remember.

Pictures. Photographs. Shadows stretched into colors. As if black and white is not enough. We burst out of those feeble detentions and demand what we think is ours.

If only.

It tastes like winter, but feels like spring. It's hard to die, but it's even harder to live.

I'd be all right. I really would. If I could just convince myself that is what I want to be.

I wouldn't mind that chalk if it would only behave. Listen when I tell it.

It's so ugly, but it's beautiful to me. Hurt me. That's what I want.

Hurt me.

Because I won't live again unless.


| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2018. All Rights Reserved.