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vignettes and paper trails...

9/30/2007 at 6:13 AM

It seems that with every day that goes by, i find myself looking for the missing puzzle pieces to this still frame that i now call life. This broken mirror i look into, as i cross my reflection in your eye, is now empty. You find your self broken. Your tongue, twisted as you're trying to find and hold onto another lie. Denial, it paints your picture. The vignette you brought to an existence. This light you crawl to find. And with every second that ticks passing to the future, you find yourself glued to my every word. Tragically you long to fight it, to hide the mosaic questions that i now plot, piece by piece inside your head. I am that missing story behind the masterpiece that is painted in blood all over your soul. And you, you are the paper trail, the clues to my missing work of art that i still long to hold.

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The Vase Still Stays There Full...

9/30/2007 at 6:11 AM

those petals fall off of the roses you gave her like puddles forming oceans in her hands.
She's collecting the tears you caused her to cry, forgetting the ends of the starts you began to twist.
your words, your lies they bleed from the vapor, their invisibility leaving their red mark, your print all over her body.
Pale, it colors her face.
Broken, it consumes her heart...
who is it that you are? questions form lumps in her head, aching inside her thoughts, wilting inside her intuitions....
drying into the crumbs of petals locked inside her fists.

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PHOBIAS IN SHADOWS....

9/30/2007 at 6:11 AM

You made a fool of me, how you lie there on the ground counting every step i take..
casting ever so many shadows like finger prints to my every brake!
Why did you have to love him, let him kill you like an arrow to a target,
fast and punctured ever so clearly?!
you stupid girl, you shame me... wilting yourself, your heart to an empty hollow, that not even warm blood can fill...
So you carry your tears in your hands, just waiting for them to vaporize into the smiles you once carried in your eyes...
A persistent waiting... a conclusion to what will never come.
We do not ever find our happiness, my shadow. We just lie there on the floor.
Walked on by the phobias that darken us, the cold that freezes us.
we're one dimensional, a character to this death in the thing we call life.

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