Wednesday, November 9, 2011

It can be said.

In times of great duress I find that these words never impress.
You try to pleat these folds into shapes they will never mold to.

I wanted to chronicle for you a life of words that would grow as your voice grew.
But you see, you've grown quiet and in the silence the words shake in a breeze of what they once knew.
The oxygen lingers abated-ly. It's cold here in the frigidity of the stale air.
It's cold here where your voice left our fragmented skeletons.

I don't remember whether love came first or after chemistry.
If passion is any different.
If hate is anything other than, the opposite of what you should be doing.

But what I do remember, is that in these sorrowful gulps of carbon dioxide, I choke away the tears I thought I would give to you.
I hide what was our essence, because I've realized;

Whatever we were?

Those twigs have long since become new soil.