I’m coming home tonight.
No new faces await the door slam I will give in to.
Just twisted ceiling tiles and pool sticks.
The vibrations of my life have given me such much more, and so much less to lose.
I will live only for your loss.
I have my glue, ready to stick inside of paper what you have given me.
A leaf.
Spotted with black mold.
It is fading.
Such as our hearts are dying.
They are the same.
Do not tell me I cannot carve into my skin the joy you leave me.
This world is made of plastic forks.
I have taken all of the knives.
They are in my collection.
Ready to slice away at the fog in my way.
You sat there.
Inside of luxury.
Stared into me, and past me.
And then drove away.
With no words.
No looking into the back now.
The rest of you is far out of my memory.
I remember not caring.
Now I do not care, that I cannot even care.
About you. That pill.
Our moments.
Your memories of other girls.
As we laid in my bed.
You are all the way gone.
I am lost, trying to find,
what is not even there.
-Swillow
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