Sunday 3/07/2010 12:49:00 AM

We don't say anything to each other. Though we speak every day. Dirty mirrors pretend our faces. Wet shoes. In place of our footsteps. Are all that remain.

I should've been gone. But I didn't leave. I should've been orange, but I'm still red. Teasing those same old scabs. The vanity of love not withstanding.

It was always too close. Broken egg shells in the nest. Useless yolks. Spilling down the tree.

It's winter. It's how dead things are distinguished. I pretend to live. To fool it. I pretend to live for many reasons.

The least of which is us.

0 comments:


| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2016. All Rights Reserved.