tres.

she's barely there,
no eyes to speak of.
she's dark, expressionless,
bleak.
early mornings, something's wrong.
all my books are long since gone.
i sealed them all in a cardboard box,
and still she's barely there,
barely hanging on.
if i lift up a candle and stare upon her eyes,
the arc upon the edge of the earth, is lost in them.
i am lost in them.
she fades in and out of focus,
as i hold my candle near the draft.
all my books are bound in boxes,
screaming for me to take them back.
and as i gaze into her open eyes,
i am swallowed.
i am consumed.
i am taken aback by the blunt vulgarity
by which she continues to consume me.

__________________________________________________

let the clocks tick down and hold,
all the silver all the gold.
let the whores run and try to take it back.
if i slip out of conciousness,
and i'm altered down into a mess,
let me know if someone's coming in after me.
hold the phone, kill the phone,
hold me, but don't kill me.
wrapped in sheets, tightly splayed,
across this city, across these scapes.
these escapes are once in a liftetime.
these cityscapes won't rise again.
let the clocks tick silver and gold out of our grasp.
we have no need tonight.

______________________________________________________

i've realized, that in my eyes,
i don't mean anything to anyone.
they're all stuck smiling, but deep down i know,
this is how it always goes when we're burried to our necks in snow.
the blankets cover every sound that tries to escape,
to bog me down.
and i've realized that in my eyes this is how it always goes.
i don't mean anything to anyone.
i don't know how it's gone this far.