Thursday, September 9, 2010

Attempt #11

I'm not going to hurt you. That is, until you start to
get more comfortable and put your feet up on the bed.
If you ever un-bury your mistakes, I'll have to rip out
your lopsided ribcage and introduce it to the Truth.
There are certain things you just can't do anymore, like
lean back. Look me in the eye. You can't walk to class
without patting me on the back anymore because metallic
clocks have tears running down their faces. Calendars
have been stabbed to rust: Your face is circulating.
I walked into the bathroom and it smelled like a pine
forest, and I knew that wasn't right, see there are some
things I don't fall for anymore. I won't fall for your ears
anymore. How broken, how numb I felt staring at you
for twenty-five seconds as you put your sweatshirt on
after class. Then I walked up to you and gave you all
the change I had in my pocket so you could wake up.

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