lady in black

I know I'm the one that you think about,

asking what happened to the lady in black.

And it was you who put this look in my eye,

the cold hard 'fuck you'.

And it was him who finally finished the destruction

on my heart that you started.

But it was you that threw me into the depression

that inevitably leads to the chaos that makes me feel alive.

I know I'm the one that you think about, from years past,

and I suppose I'm still beautiful... but flawed.

grow up & blow away

painted by a. hlewka

twelve stories is a long way to fall.

you tell secrets in empty parking lots,

yelling to fill the void, the silence.

you tell secrets in empty parking lots,

ignoring tears from an aching heart.

you tell secrets in empty parking lots,

forgetting that it is not empty. 

i am here. listening. feeling.

you tell secrets in empty parking lots,

and i dream of roof tops,

when you're gone.

nothing ever ends.

we can't remember when our hearts were whole

or our eyes fully open

but we found each other in the broken glass

on the bar room floor,

writing poetry among ashes and cigarette butts

in this cold city,

what dies during winter,

can be resurrected in spring.

kissing ghosts, 

break the molds of what we once were.

bury it in the ground,

phantoms of whole hearts

and open eyes.

keep the darkness out.

head shakes

and sometimes, the ghosts of a reckless summer

rise up from blurry memories of drunken sunsets that blur into sunrise

and sometimes, the ghosts of a reckless night

try to settle into the wasted moments of the present, 

wanting to sink their cold fingers into warm  flesh of potential.

but sometimes, when it's easy to sink back into that sea of destruction,

ghosts have had their second chances, loose lips sink ships, baby,

and this is not an S.O.S.

but sometimes, the ghosts of a reckless summer

rise up from blurry memories of drunken sunsets that blur into sunrise

and sometimes, it's best to become the ghost in someone's mind

rising up and walking alone, away, into a wasted sunset that blurs into a sunrise

Sunday's Best

i was wearing my sunday's best for you,

but you believe that the best is underneath.

so we strip ourselves of fabric, 

of insecurities, of loneliness.

we fall into a bed of sin,

making love with our socks on.

covering our bruises,

from kicking each other's bad habits.

i was wearing my sunday's best for you,

but you threw the best away.

alarm clock radio

i was dreaming in french,
as you laid beside me.

your heart beat dancing with mine,
with your skin melting into my own.

and when our limbs are tangled,
i can't tell which beauty marks belong to me.

and you. in a sea of bedsheets,
this beauty has its own universe.

i was dreaming in french,
and you whispered je t'aime