Our Ties

I'm listening to the songs
I shouldn't listen to
in a room near the sky
that doesn't have a view,
so if I close my eyes up tight,
through the fog, I still see you.
You're out there in the world,
whistling right on queue.

You get to breathe
while you let me choke
and you're shiny and new,
but I'm old and broke.
I'll try to forget every word
to me that you spoke:
so I guess that the end
of the world is a joke.

Scars are ghosts
of pains that once were
and dreams are realities
with a filter and a blur.
I feel you sometimes, still,
and my stomach does stir.
I wonder and reason
and plead to infer.

But now I have found
more perfect eyes
and more perfect hands
and more perfect thighs.
I have language
greater than lies.
There's really nothing broken,
after all, except our ties.

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This poem is about letting it hurt, but not letting it run you into the ground. It's about the weird dichotomy of moving on with shadows and phantoms still lurk over your shoulder. It's about being crazy, but - at the end of the day - still being just sane enough to function. But, overall, it's about those rare, perfect moments when your brain stops stirring and your hands stop shaking and your feet hit solid ground.

Or it's about whatever you need it to be about.







"It's taken so long to feel like a kid again. All my clothes are ripped, my channel was skipped: I was shiny and new back then." Socratic The Critics (Oh, yes I did.)

"If dreams are like movies, then memories are films about ghosts." Counting Crows Mrs. Potter's Lullaby

"Spring blooms and you find the love that's true, but you don't know what now to do 'cause the chase is all you know and she stopped running months ago." Death Cab For Cutie Your Heart Is An Empty Room

"Remember that the only things we need sometimes are chilly nights and warmer thighs 'cause there's nothing like being held." Saves The Day Hold