4:24 PM
A scattered poem.
Useless words of sorrow.
A pity party of weeping secrets,
not wanting to be told.
What the fuck did you do to me, sailor?
Causing my life to give worry to you tainted thoughts.
And slaying the already slaughtered notes of my fingertips.
A face shadowed by the fog that lingers over this water.
One i drew through your window.
My fingers break glass.
Freezing.
Here in a room with you.
Silent.
As we always should be.
I'm haunted by your painted words.
Covered and dripped on.
A splatter of art that i do not see as art at all.
But to you, i'm your masterpiece.
To break through you is my only concern.
Its piecing you back together that worried me.
I am positive that i cannot preform a task such as this.
Therefore, you are left broken.
I stack you up and carry you in my bag.
Bringing you to all the places that i love.
Leaving small pieces of you at every monument.
But i do not love any place but the places that do not exist.
Only in my mind can they be found.
Meaning every piece of you is scattered there
and is the only place that you now exist.
The wonderful dreamlike places of my mind.
-T
