Friday, April 08, 2005

(Brainsludge: Mind-dump) (in lieu of Friday Fict.)

in the space above your mind
lie thoughts of last explosions
left behind when the meteor crash
took the last few moments of the
earth's misspent youth.

when you reach out for me
i can't decide if you offer
help or hurt in your calloused hands

sometimes the fabric rips and
time slips into the in-between space
that harbors all the best and worst
of mankind's ambition. and in this
no-man's-land i wanderlost without
your spotlight eyes and lighthouse
voice guiding me away from the

music hides the truth of emotion,
and rockstars fear silence like
dieters crossing the street to avoid
dunkin freakin donuts.

i want to go home but not home home
rather to a home that i imagine
where i am not making meals for one
and having to find space for the telltale
plates of leftovers that choke my

(i miss your eyes, your dayblue eyes,
i miss your eyes because they lied
and sometimes lying eyes are fine
if the lies they tell are nice ones.)

alone alone alone alone alone
no home no home no home no home
quiet quiet too quiet too too quiet

your love was like an atom bomb:
when i didn't have it i wanted it
but once i got it, i spent sleepless
nights dreading the day it was
destined to destroy me.

roses are red and
roses are red and
roses are red
red and red and red
(and when your artless
fumbling fingers find clever thorns
you are red like roses)

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