One Soul, One Hundred And Two Hearts

i know you must be hurting. except i haven't really seen you so i can't be totally sure. but since we share a soul and mine's hurting for no good reason i can think of, it just must be yours. and since we haven't spoke you don't tell me what's the matter. and i wonder how i could help.
so you know i would tear a hundred hearts out to be sure that your's is safe. and against all odds i'd hire a taxidermist and have them all stuffed and saved, displayed on my mantelpiece.

and then my soul would cease to hurt.
the other one hundred would replace that empty space on my nightstand where at dusk we'd take our hearts out and leave them there 'til morning. at night we would dream and come morning we'd reconvene and carefully place them back in. those heartless nights in which our love didn't matter, it was purely the soul that remembered our actions.

and you left me alone, with my heart on the nightstand, attached to the soul we share in such an uncanny way, but half that soul is mine and maybe i'd want custody again sometime soon. if i remembered what to do. me - here, sharing all the good, and you like hell, and you! all i have from you is a bit of misery that i can't undo, can't return without hurting myself and i don't even know what makes it grow, or puts it to rest. these lingering pains that put me to the test.

how i have a vested interest in your swollen from too much hurt heart, i haven't a clue, but someone up there is enjoying this show.

An Abomination

i stopped and asked a standing body in the snow to please take my picture. i told him i was from down south, that i've never seen the snow. it was lustful, and a lie. in my defense it was a white lie, the kind that made him feel like there was a purpose to the picture taking. specifically more than the mere fact that i wanted to talk to him. i wanted that picture too. i told him my family would go berserk over the sight of me manning the snow, cause back at home i wouldn't leave the house if there was anything over a 14% chance of precipitation. i thought the picture could capture the havoc in the air while remaining still. i laughed and said all this wet snow made me feel like i was part of a window display at a department store. a lifeless abomination. but really, i was happy like a bucket full of cumulonimbus clouds, ready to burst. and i figured since eventually it will happen i'd like to have a picture of the wave right before it crashes, or something like that.

i took two steps back from him, said cheese through my grin, and he snapped the picture. he glanced down and said "perfect".

i thanked him and offered him a stick of gum, he accepted, hailed a cab, and was off.

i took his spot standing in the snow.

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regret is the word that fosters my soul
hope beyond a fence made of bones
lost in the angles of your smile
high off the carpentry of your body

once in awhile i believe this trip
was bound to derail at first slip

the liquid mass has turned to stone
never again to possibly return
so show me all the cards you hold
as i deflate as you steadily swell
with the tricks still up your sleeve
and all that's left for comfort
are your pathetic prophecies