Your Conscience

December 14, 2007
Start counting the hours
they are an accomplishment.
More have passed
since then, we’ve laughed

It feels like someone interrupted
a quiet solo, I know.
The words are stuck
like you, stationary with embarrassment
at being heard

It feels like
checking the phone
for messages of blood results
you feel the cold is colder
and everything is suddenly steel

It feels like

bad news

baby blues
frost bite

petty fights
Just bringing, bringing you down

It feels like

two pink lines

and a speeding ticket

a slap in the face

another girl’s lace
Just dragging, dragging you down

Let’s count the minutes
They pass quicker
Take the icicle from you left breast
And put it in the inferno…
Only you can stop the snow
I’m just a voice in your head

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