Thursday, August 28, 2014

Half Past Midnight

The record plays over and over 
Same song same good byes , 
The story should've never been 

Written that way - 

I sit with the endings , the fabric of torn sheets 
Fingerprints smudged as they walk out 

There's a pillow I lie on 
Where my dreams are asleep 

It's not what I had written 
It blows away in an empty wind 

I run fast to replace it 
Nothing seems as real 

There's always the consequence 
To risking the last kiss , captured in every poem that followed to the moment 

I'm lead to believe there is an untold story 
Of chasing dreams 

If he asked , " I found my self breathing in your breath , the marrow of the heart that pounded in her chest , grasping for his soul to come clean , " 

As he 

I'm left with the story 
Of an empty midnight street