Bag Lady

blues and grays of the grass are some sort of yellow now,

some sort of bug leg in your sweet tea; just one sip and you're begging that summer never happened again and you weren't so good at lying and sleeping and shutting things out without any type of remorse while the swans at the edge of your mind offered to bathe for you so you wouldn't have to dream of cold lips and hips pressing you farther into the water with every 'i love you... so much... so much' whispered into your burning ears.

somehow you're still alive and you, how, why, and since when did that happen last time i checked i was floating around somewhere in between

ten years from now and tomorrow don't seem so different all of a sudden so you watch your neighbors smoke pot and listen to 'chill' music so the difference seeps into something again and you're left with no answers and no questions. but the girl stood on the corner and I can't tell if she was crying or not she looked so distraught and pleasant with a dragon emerging from her eyelids and grin cascading over her cheek bones.

i wouldn't have any trouble sleeping if it weren't for his lingering face above my head as I slept and I remember you and the feel of you next to me while Bon Iver played all night, even when I reached over to turn it off and I remember sleeping in your small room with

oh. is that how you miss someone? huh.

every time I push it away, it comes running back with a wound to it's head and blood running from a constant stream from it's eyebrows and it's face is a collage of my life and all I've ever wanted to change about my appearance so I stood and tried to touch you, but you flinched away like I always imagined you doing to her. i wish this were the sound of the unlocking and the lift away, but it's all gone to shit after i watched her falter on the edge the bathtub, knees locked and bleeding, while she begged for me to hold her hair (make her forget, kiss her hand,

i'm a one man band in search of oceans to penetrate my shins at four in the morning, leaving them as lifeless as the harmonica player that came with me to play out my life in a string of melodies all meaning nothing to me and everything to the woman on the street corner that when no one's looking breaks down and cries for the life she always wanted, never had, never had,

just try and kiss the lipless and you get everything you've ever known about life thrown back in your face, because just as you're standing there in your 80$ dress and the world is moving in movie-esqu shapes right under your eyelashes, you realize you can't save him and you really are just kissing the lipless.

And she, "you're the lipless and the lipless love you, but the world hates you." so you're wandering the streets with your head in you pockets and your hands in your head so that you mightmaybe, with a slight chance of passion fall into the right trap this time.