nostalgia:
regress,
regret,
repeat.
all left in the past,
dried and withered
forgotten in ancient textiles...
pressed between pages
of old text.
i'll eat that humble nostalgia
you package and rest in my box--
swallow it whole
veins and all,
with a sneer for the ages
and another plan for your demise
as beautiful as azure cradling
its fiery pink sunset brood.
[you should be thankful that i keep your worrisome ego up at night]
maybe it's weird
that i want to look in your eyes
and find the honest and final truth.
those eyes in the mirror
they lie,
condone,
patronize.
maybe it's weird
that i want to know
the origin of your last name,
and why you wear your eye makeup
the way you do.
i walk dead
dimly lit corridors,
listening
starving for truth
hiding in shadows...
manufacturing memories
colored in crayon
a perfect dance--
our first kiss,
when you first held my hand,
the smile you--
no.
the futility of this thinking
is the convenient synthetic cinematic story
and i fade to black too quickly.
but still i wonder...
about your favorites,
your heartbreak,
your inside jokes,
your closet full of idiosyncrasy.
maybe it's weird,
but it's true nonetheless.
