The Writers Voice
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I remember seeing you that first time,
I looked up, and there you were:
Standing on my words – shivering – stomping them
back down to earth.
Shaking loose my suspicions and my rage
Seeing that if I could just utilize
and not coast,
I just might overcome the shadows
I've been creeping in.
Yet you soared in between the lies of my
You rode the persuasiveness
of my eloquence
into perilous jaws.
You laughed deep down in my bones.
You held me higher than you could
However, things happened as they must:
every cliché that has ever quivered
on someone's lip,
crashed into us - a wave of ire.
you, the brown eyed girl
me, the boy next door
Carrying us on such desperate currents
Is it enough we had those few breaths,
those urgent moments to ourselves?
The clocks of the world stood
And yet, time ravaged on. We got older,
the world got older…no one told us.
Then our motion ceased
Our cogs and springs failed and cracked.
They pierced our eyes
and bit our tongues
…we choked and choked,
And I would have coughed you up every day
If it were in me.
But the wheels of our lives could not
(and would not)
grind dependent of us.
We had fallen into a hole seemingly small,
yet we lost sight and did not see,
the hole had fallen into us.
And now where to, my dear?
And now where to?
I've picked up immunity to clichés,
and you've picked up the cliché immunity.
And you have become heavy with time.
And I have become weak with words.
What introductions are left to us?
From what extreme have we not screamed at the other?
Tirelessly these questions are asked,
but you do not answer.
I meant every lie I said, my dear.
I meant every lie.
Would you take this too literally?
Would you see what you
wanted to see?
A spiral; a sea-battered ship; the smile on the face of
your first kiss?
Whatever lonely justifications you curl up with at night,
I hope they keep you warm.
Irony pours from your mouth,
vapor fleeing from your feet.
And lest my blood suddenly run cold,
your absolution would be forever.
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