why do they peel away like blisters,
dry skin in the sun and it rubs off on you
like some kind of bad influence.
broke in through the night,
hung on from your bedpost,
and stayed with you until morning.

now it’s sorry time.
things are starting to shift, crack and shake,
you’ve got to prioritize.
can’t afford to accomplish another mistake,
your eyes still paralyzed,
just like your heart,
and you’re self-empowered yet helpless…

something is in here, something is splintering,
and i want to extend my finger in blame,
set my targets, dig until i get to the flame,
and unearth it.

decision-making was never your strong suit,
though you loved to pretend.
and i’m sick of sitting down here
in your cellar on a shelf collecting dust,
even if you plan on treating me like a fine wine,
i’ve aged and matured and proven myself worthy.
but you’re too occupied
watching ticks of time fly by
and expecting nothing to change,

you’re right, it hasn’t changed,
it’s just altered.

i’m trying so hard to write in rhythms,
to get through to you,
to deconstruct and rebuild and finalize,
i am no longer comfortable
with this dry skin, with this peeling sensation,
flake off, fall off, and flutter
the same way you came, uninvited and friendly.

05/27/2005

Posted on 05/27/2005
Copyright © 2025 Frankie Sanchez