Friday, January 18, 2008

You used to sleep with your hands between your thighs.

It’s time you withered and died
Before you become my enemy
Before you make up three corners
Of my already empty room.

Time we fought.
Time you did me a favor
And told me to go away.

I’ll do me a favor
And stop asking questions.

It’s time I used my pillows as
Comfort for my restless head
Rather than a breathless
Loveless
Recreation under my sheets.

It’s time you withered and died
Before I become my enemy
Before I become just another corner
In my ever silent room.

2 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

You are buffering, Friend.

fuck you.

but
ay
call her -

call the one.
Call upon the audience
of all your writings
these passing months.

incant her into being
with your coming
imprinted upon
her soul.

call her.
bring her home.

January 20, 2008 at 3:16 AM  
Blogger Ahren said...

In Response~With Your Words.

fuck your buffering, Friend.

ay.
these months
call upon her being.
call one
her call.
home –
all
her
Call.

you are but you
with your writings
imprinted audience.
incant the passing of her soul
into coming.
bring her
the one.

January 21, 2008 at 8:35 AM  

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