My precious
I stand underneath the rain,
and watch the pale colors wash away.
We painted pretty pictures
on our faces,
carved our names into dying trees,
while the winds blew our memories away.
You don't even know why you look at
me anymore, and yet you feel compelled
to keep staring, to keep searching my
body for the lost cause.
But our secret is that we are murderers.
We washed away chunks of flesh, and blood
down a sterile drain,
and we walked away into a different world,
where we no longer belonged.
All our pretty ideas, and dreams;
left for the dying shadows in the unreachable
past.
Why am I here, with you?
I wanted so desperately to believe...
But there are no truths in your tumble of lies.
You are unbound and disconnected. What more is there?

01/20/2008

Posted on 01/21/2008
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