Patiently waiting, we’re wanting
for something to break us down.
This curse of love is almost
fading in the waking of understanding.
Now we are waiting for the climax
where we will finally crack;
where we will begin to understand.

Yet the point of understanding is not obtainable
in this shell of a life, where we dream in shades of grey,
and where the clouds are too poignant to let the rain fall
on the weak soil of our hearts in order to grow.

In this death, in this cold grey morning,
the collision of our lives faithlessly flickers
and we cross our fingers, hoping we’d be
where we will crash, and burn, and live.

The sorrow between you and me has become a wall
where we are crossed on lover’s bridge.
In the sighs of yesterday we let the cold seep
in between the pages of sonnets, ages old,
yet we hold fast to the memoirs
of the forgotten truths we’d love to believe.

Eloquent is our veiled falsehood made law—
honesty is simply overlaid in hypocritical irony;
we paint ourselves in coats of painful denial
where somehow black and white becomes grey;
but the clear picture is concealed behind muddled.

Somehow the sun still rises over the bitter streets
and in the heart of remorse I am lost
among the faces of the wasted.
We crumble with the thoughts that destroy us
where we’re left only to overused shrugs;
Silent nods leave us dead in the temperance we hate.

What this was meant to be was forward motion;
Nonetheless, deeply integrated into every cell
is the whispers and the dreams we never left unspoken;
yet we refused to believe it could be true,
that we would only fail,
where we would crash, and burn, and die.

At least in death we’d be close.
At least in death we’d understand who we are.
Still even now your voice suffocates me
in the place where I cannot feel you-
when you forget my name,
when I can’t remember who you are.

And what we have done, all that we’ve built up
to create this tangle of misused words,
its roots are left unseen, pushed down and forgotten,
and now there is nothing more than the
shallow foundation of meaningless tomorrows.

Somehow things fell together out of the dust,
in desperation of the unknown paradise,
the Eden we have never known to exist,
yet within the shadow of a second where we live,
the meaningless words we spew spark the flame
which ignites our fragile hopes, but leaves nothing.
Absolutely nothing.