missed
By St Alcohol
open door old fiend time he hates me in three ways and might be a friend she's gone she's here, she's there old man time cackles as i walk past to work button-down my empty bed i can smell her hair (so i tell myself) on her pillow. and it's just a month, till old time is a friend ticking off seconds; heartbeats that linger between squeezed hands as if to ask him to slow a bit and let us enjoy it the world is grey and cardboard, sans warmth or smile, like the low-light of evensong bells when i'd keep her awake because i couldn't stop touching her. Written January 9th, 2002 © on Jan 08 2002 04:20 PM PST 0 • 8
AI analysis available. Enable JavaScript to interact.
About this line
"open door..."