Wednesday, September 29, 2010


Head against the wall
wishing for some tea or a cigarette
trying to think of anything but you,
miles away, talking cheerfully with friends
as i wander through this solemn place
uncomfortable and unable to speak any word but your name.
I run my fingers through my tangled hair, over my pale face
and I’m certain of only one thing now;
that loving a person is a lot like
hanging yourself.
But just before you jump
you look down at the ground,
back at the door.
You wait to see if someone
will come and rescue you.
But he doesn’t come.
No one comes.
He is settled beneath his sheets
probably dreaming
of a girl with softer skin and greener eyes,
a calmer voice.
But for what its worth,
all I really wanted
was for you to wrap your arms around me
and kiss me on the neck,
offer to make me an egg, some toast,
and maybe some tea.
That would be nice.

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