we sit here and hollow ourselves
a million times.
the minutes race on ahead
with no intention of waiting for what is left behind.
those words scrape hard against my back
and i'll wish that your awful hands could be bound
to feel the weight of imprisionment for the things
they should not have done, defying rationality,
and flooded with selfish desire.
i'm sorry echoes over and over again
through a phone line soaking up the tears that
drip and smear the ink on my face.
my body projects the images
on the emptiness behind your eyes
blurred and moving in a senseless deja vou
that runs in my head at night when i sleep alone
resting my weight on my side against the wall for comfort.
the only warmth that i want sank miles away
five months ago leaving me with strings of voice that
dissolve with air.