Slip, Click, Gone.
The edge is burning.
Floudering, falling.
This space in time equivical,
to every crushed up peice of pulp.
Piling the waste-basket with memories.

Letters that are never good enough.
Letting you know i'm letting go.
These tears dotting pages, lost.
Dampening now, not soaking.
Progress.

Look inside, and read the letters
between your lines, and frowns.
Cares of concealment.
Beat the words into your head.
Equate them with memory and reverie.
And a world thats lost and found.

Off the side of the human perogative.
Is the blank stare of weightless eyes.
Mirror reflections of perversity.
Hopelessness encapsuled in flecks
of aqua and grey. Dead eyes.

Hope is a floatation device
just inches from our grasp.
Ever drifting evasively as we sink.
Forgetting our words in the cool carresses
of the ocean despair.

We will cling onto each other
tearing with fingernails
trying to stay afloat.
I'm not leaving without you.

01/18/2004

Author's Note: Title is if you don't know a lyric from Taking Back Sunday...

Posted on 01/18/2004
Copyright © 2024 J. P. Davies