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Your Conscience
Start counting the hours
they are an accomplishment.
More have passed
since then, we’ve laughed
It feels like someone interrupted
a quiet solo, I know.
The words are stuck
like you, stationary with embarrassment
at being heard
It feels like
checking the phone
for messages of blood results
you feel the cold is colder
and everything is suddenly steel
It feels like
bad news
baby blues
frost bite
petty fights
Just bringing, bringing you down
It feels like
two pink lines
and a speeding ticket
a slap in the face
another girl’s lace
Just dragging, dragging you down
Let’s count the minutes
They pass quicker
Take the icicle from you left breast
And put it in the inferno…
Only you can stop the snow
I’m just a voice in your head
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