not a reflex, but a reverb
but i'm tired of asking your bones
to come back home
soon
i will be waking up knowing that i'll always be alone
even when everyone i know is around me,
reassuring me that my voice and my footsteps
will never echo in hollow hallways
i'll never call an answering machine
i'll never have to keep myself company with insanity
my breaking point will never come
my fists will remain unfurled
i won't curl into a feral ball
wont call my mother hystericallyto tell her i can't handle shit
i cant handle shit...
i don't run. i can't catch.
not even my breath as i'm trying to get this down
it would be so easy to end it all
but even at my weakest,i've learned to respect the fact
that endings never change things
and happy is just a five fingered rope of last hopes and gasping breaths
that split second of frenzy when your eyes
flew open and you gulped down screaming my name
and now i'm screaming inside my head again
i'm punching cushioned curtained walls
of suburban comfort
and telling you i knew all along that
life didn't revolve around my loneliness
but it damn sure doesn't depend on
cul-de-sac's cut from the american dream
there are so many things i dreamed i could be
if you listened and took me seriously
if you opened up your chest and let my true self pour through
like liquid heartbeats
© 2009 Marcea L. Brown. All rights reserved
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