exactly the weight of realizing that maybe you are fading. And maybe that’s healthy and well.
I scramble to pick you up like dropped marbles, and there’s too much for my hands, to carry in my pockets, keep safe under my tongue. But I can’t bear to leave even one behind.
That glassy shooter. That could be the one I kept the love in.
Mar 20, 2007, 08:30PM PDT | 1 cheer | 0 comments
I don’t think this ever stops pulsing.
I don’t think about you much, but all the same, I think that’s only cause I don’t stop thinking of you.
I don’t think about the air, but I’m still breathing it.
Letting you drift from my mind, dissipate into a dust the air can carry away…it’s suffocation, it’s death.
So you’re here, in my pocket. And you’re not doing anything, saying anything profound or novel, not touching my arm with those fingers or implying that thing about that guy from that band was a total lie, not reading a book or smiling or moving…
But all the same, you’re the little thing that keeps me alive.
Jun 01, 2006, 10:35PM PDT | 1 cheer | 0 comments
Well, I got a job. Time will tell if I really love it.
May 01, 2006, 09:45PM PDT | 0 comments