Brittle and breakable bones. The wretched frame you now parade in, seeking company with the vermin. Cobweb spaces filled with dead air. Shifting shapes meant to intimidate. Stilted. Hollow. There is a story behind this. You shall tell it as such: Grandiose memories fabricated in place of ruins. Of how things came to fall, of why they came to end. A story there must be. Even a tragedy deserves to be told.

It was a riot while it lasted.

Actually

People never really mean anything they feel.

Unless they shouldn’t.
Or should.
Or can’t.

The Way The Story Goes

Lies are constructed to justify actions. I Love You’s are said in vain. I’m Sorry’s are uttered to placate. Someone breaks a promise or a back is stabbed. The whore remains a whore. The truth is still the truth. The villain paints herself the victim. The smoking gun is locked in a secret place. And the lovers ride away into the sunset, like they always always do.

We Are Found

In the songs that are unheard of. Told as stories slipped in hidden books. We are not you, we do not play your childish games. Our world is ours. There is only how we got here. There is what there is because it should. We plead from the divine. We practice poetry in our deeds. The forlorn begs for her chance to dream, in the cheap exhilaration of commonplace praise.

We need not seek to be adored.

Those Girls

Girls with hearts laid on pavements, drawing their dreams in colored chalk. Singing of imaginary lovers and non-existant romances. Skipping skipping prancing, tears in their eyes. Playing on swings reaching for the stars up high.

Never quite close to touching anything but air.

Flame and rust

Seasons are changing. The wind blows stronger, it’s a blurry mess out there.  My life is a distraction. Yours is a masterpiece.  I keep busy trying to remember last month, the twelve months past, the five years gone. I will never forget summers at home.

But mostly it’s difficult to just wait without noticing.

So many fools claiming to love, to want love, to be in love.  Without being loved back. Don’t we all stay a little foolish, until we are?

And even maybe after that too.