They call it rebel music,
The way my heart swarms against my ribcage
When you are near.
It hurts to hear you on the stairwell
Running your hands along her door.
Wondering when she will open.
Why can’t you see, the door to me is always open
And never creaks in the middle of the night.

Maybe it is her movie star eyes
And the fact my mascara smudges.
Maybe it is her startling teeth
And the fact I crumble so easily.
Maybe it the fact she doesn’t even care
When my love is written on the walls.

I know these late night trysts will never amount
To anything more than her satisfaction and your heartache.
You will never see me as more than a ghost in the hall.
Watching without being seen,
Loving without knowing any truths.
I think the illusion of love being sacred
Is what makes it so easy to think you may one day
Realize reality.

But until that day, I will continue to play
My silent revolutions dedicated to you.

10/14/2006

Author's Note: grammatical errors and all---this is my dirge to love

Posted on 10/15/2006
Copyright © 2024 Beth K Hannah