you hate these socks i'm wearing, you just told me "they make your feet stink worse". and the fallen angel in the backyard is watching with outstretched arms, and i can't physically see her, but i know she's there. the last landmark from my past that makes the aches in my heart almost explode. and if it ever did explode a thousand butterflies would flutter out and fall to the ground. each one desperately trying to take off, get off the ground - but their wings are too weak and the gravity seems to be pulling in an usually profound way. i'm still not sure if it's just me or it's all a bad dream. but the fact that you woke up ages ago and walked out, which is an odd way to put it since i'm the one who actually moved, you stayed right where you were - still are. but i'm the one emotionally stalled on all fours crawling towards the faintest scent of how i remember you. the bearer of bad news, you had the paper in hand and read me all the obituaries, but you didn't mention was your intention to get my name there within the following weeks. the sheath you used to blind all my senses, it was kind of relentless, in my mind it was our connection - i called it love. you always knew better, more than me. you could predict the future with your crystal ball and tarot cards. and when you pulled the high priestess and the tower you saw weakness and me cower, i saw jesus with a flower in his hair. the sins we hold together are rabid enough in their own right, savage in cuffs on a lonely night.
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