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Name: Natalie
Metro:
Gender: Female
Interests: black coffee, menthols, beat poets, old ladies that tell dirty jokes, sarcasm, 12:51, strange things.
Expertise: expertise: being an asshole
Message: message me
AIM:  sumof22
Member Since:
6/8/2006
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| I miss him every day as he leaves, or I leave
We, the hunter-gatherers of our quaint earth.
There is no porch light lit when I arrive, always dark inside the windows
I turn it on every night and wait.
He has the loving look on his face when he sees me,
Unless he's thinking about all the worldly wants and have-nots:
which seems to be often.
The headlights hit the moisture on the windows,
Shadows of the trees tell me he's home
Will anyone tell me if that look will accompany him tonight?
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| i haven't written a rhyme poem in quite some time.
(this is going to be a song.)
Maybe because I forgot to breathe
Heather Sheldon walked the plank
Sometimes I wonder if I'd believed her
Would I still have drawn a blank?
What do you say to a girl at war with
Demons no one else can see?
Now I wonder what's the score
And if this curse will follow me.
I didn't know how it would end and
You could not expect me to,
I cannot revive the dead
I have no power to renew.
Still I feel that it's my fault
Heather's dead with all her ghosts,
I see her still, walking these halls
Or in the tides along the coast.
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| In this rain we breathe muddy footsteps
Slow motion dancing
All my emotions strung out across the desperate yellowing hills.
You take my hand at three a.m. and it's a dream but
We're standing while we sleep and
These wicked parts of the forest bring nightmares every night.
I cannot feel the night turn into day,
Like puddles my thoughts stagger and ripple and
Nothing is solid
Nothing is real
Nothing is real.
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| This afternoon awakes into a soft breaking
Dry clay crumbling
The tide washes my bones into a breath
Into dead
Air. | | |
| The word sits cross-legged on the pillow
Blue collared and foreign at
4 am
I ask you how something so honest
Can be so unnecessary
I am really asking myself and I don't think you heard me anyhow
Twisting in the phantom sheets, I face you and find
I already know the answer.
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