It's All Gone, Now.
we used to
run up hills just to pick daises and scream to the sky, a mess of laughter muffled the
winds cries. i find it ironic that i now feel as if i'm
a tree with roots that attatch me permanently to this town. why
is it that i'm dehydrated and begging for the
suns forgiveness? a tree
can't live long with no sunlight or water, you know. even in a
different form i am still unsymmetrical, my collar bones are
never in place nor do my paintbrushes fall to the canvas right.
birds land on my branches but the wind sends them flying.
its like the oceans currents have come above the sea. rip tides
are pulling me under, and my legs are becoming weaker with each
tread. the streetlights that light up nothing and trains that
lead no where make my head pound. buses toll people around
only to end up on another empty street corner, yet again writing
in this little black book of mine. i want to leave it somewhere
just to see what happens, with all the letters to the world in it
and all. i suppose the sky would bleed and my heart would rain,
but anyways. Love never does leave.
i mailed you a letter today. it told a story, do you
remember?
we used to ride ninety miles an hour just to feel wind in our
hair.
But that's all gone,
now.