Post Mature

October 20, 2010
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And like a sigh working
Through signs of woe
I am bent sinister
And pushed to the wall.
Like a line lifted from a book thrown on the floor
Amidst the trash where I will soon break your heart,
We decided to do this again
Because of those few, certain
Things we miss feeling.
We could, despite the rest, make each other feel.
I’m sorry that I threw you on the floor, I am.
Despondent, wearing thick there with
Your ear pressed down on
The ground, the muffled songs of hell
Sinking in your head
And deep inside you knew
Me all along. So sure,
You poke a finger through
Your candy wrapper dress,
Curl up in old issues
Of the Saturday Evening Post so
I still know you’re living in the wrong age.
You were supposed to be born
Long before we killed each other, felt the muffle, hell, whimper.





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