Tuesday, February 4, 2014

Torn Shoes...

My soul’s like an empty book,
lying on the table,
like your heart,
with blocks,
like ink blots,
I try so hard to erase.

My mind is crashing,
I wish you wont.
I wish you would,
Just get back up on your feet and 9 toes,
and walk, like the strong man I once knew, again.

Blowing smoke into cold air,
trying so hard to recede,
as I skip my pills
and skip my meals,
just to win this race,
get there faster than you.


And every detail,
from the way I sleep,
to the way I speak,
the mistakes and the arrogance
I ape, like a child playing mirror,
as my dreams rush in a frenzy,
paralyzing me,
trying to cover everything,
you could possibly dream of.


And it’s as though I’m trying to,
create a bind,
like we were meant to belong,
like we shared a heart,
and shared a brain,
and would lapse together,
and breathe again,
as air hit our conjoined lungs.


My soul, its just,
an empty book,
with lines running across,
like train tracks,
and I sit immobile by the sides,
with bated breath,
tired of feeling like I’m going to get hit,
and all it takes,
is for you to run across,
and I’ll run behind,
with arms stretched out,
in the cold air,
without a sound,
never looking back.


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