I am the tiniest trinket, chipped paint, faded reflection, worn out, rubbed down.
I have holes in pockets, I know you have read these words before. For some reason though, they mean more now then ever. My finger tips touch small back keys, that make small black letters, that touch the very cord of your being.
So listen up, doll, because if I could say one thing this would be it.
I once knew my first name, then I watched you say it. The way your lips curved around every letter as sound came out, my ears rang with a certain peace.
I haven’t found that room yet, not since the last time you stood in front of me. You lay in my arms and I could feel your heart beat. but maybe it was just the darkness.
Time, oh you are so tricky. How you slowly trickle by, seconds that lasted hours. Then how you open some big damned black hole and suck my day away.
The lady in the dark rimmed glasses spoke to me.
“How do you love a broken soul?”
I responded, “Forever.”
“You speak blasphemy.”
“Fluently.” I whispered.
I miss you, like I miss your finger tips tracing over my skin.
But, maybe it was just the darkness.
Oh, how it enrages me that they never speak of my quite mouth under water, in all it’s wrapped fullness . No, instead those girls just yell about who will get to me first. It is their own faults, if they would listen they wouldn’t have to waste their time.
I cannot be gotten to.
But, I miss you more then I would miss my lungs if I misplaced them.
I know that you believe you understand what you think I said, but I’m not sure you realize that what you heard is not what I meant.
