Cascading through the tumultuous course of events
this slime slides down your throat
and lodges itself in your windpipe.

All I want to feel
is what it's like to be just what you are.
To accomplish NOTHING
the way you so artfully do.

You're so clouded.
You're grey.
You're the gum that loves to stick itself to my shoes,
gets trudged along til it's black with collected debris,
and still refuses to undo it's self from my soul
(no matter how hard I pry with a butter knife.)

You are a parasite.
Withering all the while, I'm here
as you suck my obsession out through my pores.

But I'll chase.
You know that I'll chase.
It seems that as you forget all the memories
(year after year of Christmas and New Years,
holiday feasts and games played with tiny MickeyD toys,
fishing rods and paper clips,
self-mutilation and secrets we thought we'd never dare say...)
I'm chasing those the phantom images down.

Persue and Persue and Persue...

because really,
I love you.
I won't just stop loving you.
Hey, if I could, I'd be able to speak to you,
throw on a mask of aquaintence and say that I'm fine
when you ask "How are you?"


You'll find me easy, as always,
if ever you want some quick reassurance
that "eveything will be o.k."
even when we know it won't be.
Never again, though I wish that I didn't dare say it...

Look to your shadow--
my corpse will be dragging along.

12/04/2003

Author's Note: Thanks to Jordan for the topic. Note: I reviosed it from it's first copy. I didn't like it. Now I like it more. Love-Hate relationship with poetry, you know how it goes....

Posted on 12/04/2003
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