behind closed doors we covet

things that we’ve lost

our innocence

ripens with age

then passes away

falling like petals of guilt

one by one

we are lost

praying on knees

faces pressed against glass

vials of confusion

that grapple for time

reaching for air

or just a fair breath

among the murmur of pipers

and the plague of control

we are rabid

morbidly awaiting for another to drop

so we can take their place

among the hidden sacrifice

 

 

 

 

Six months turns into years

you leave  a message,

‘want you’

I hear you beneath dreams

and voices  I have to whisper

cold blood turns into red tears.

I remember digging a grave

to burry my love

holding my breath.

Without words

I watched you go.

Six months has turned into years

and there you are.

 

ten thousand love stories

I run away.

from ten thousand love stories

and you’re the “only” one.