we are capturing waves in
old jam jars, and releasing them like fireflies
to fill the void
left by the disappearance of admiration.
we are dying in slow motion,
shoving thoughts of anonymity
down below where our acceptence
resides.
cover my eyes with regurgitated humanity
and maybe i will
sleep tonight.
the pockmarks left by scattered shrapnel
are slowly consuming
holdinghandsandsayingiloveyou.
there were happilyeverafter's
and forevermore's in my book,
but of course your wandering eyes never grasped that.
what you did grasp was my hand,
and we went hurtling head-first
into backwards believing
and abnormalities escaping from between our ribs.
exhaling flies with greed for wings
was not your supposed ending.
the bubble is burst
and perhaps we don't have enough soap
to rebuild.