The Empty Pills
By Convolution
Lips spill things unuttered on clear days, and your love’s eyebrows soar to the ceiling. Every eye is open a mile and every pupil is a mile across. For around six hours you’ve been locked in your room. Your friends and you are all that exist, and not even time has bearing on your thoughts. You hold the most important person in your arms, and cool blue lights creep through your skin everywhere it touches hers. But it is not real. As you drive your carriage down her lane, you turn and say “I love you” for the very first time. But it is not real. Arriving back at home, your closest friends await you with open arms. Embraces fill the room, and the bold pattern of lace adorns the wall. Late into the night your conversation blossoms, and you lay your head down on a pillow of contagious imagination when sleep finally arrives. The next day retrospect sets in. You sweep yourself to where those three soft words sailed from your tongue, and you collide with a wall of paralyzing reality. You think of what you shared and say to yourself, “But it was not real.” Written January 6th, 2002 © on Jan 06 2002 02:04 PM PST 0 • 9
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"Lips spill things unuttered on clear days, and your love’s eyebrows soar to the ceiling. Every eye is open a mile and every pupil is a mile across. For around six hours you’ve been locked in your room. Your friends and you are all that exist, and not even time has bearing on your thoughts. You hold the most important person in your arms, and cool blue lights creep through your skin everywhere it touches hers. But it is not real. As you drive your carriage down her lane, you turn and say “I love you” for the very first time. But it is not real...."