I hold back
and breathe in
hoping to hold onto some memories.
Our story told in books--thin-papered--
in dark ink
--Mistakes carved boldly--

Maybe we're better off this way
beating on this drum
listening to the murmuring regurgitation
of our lies.

Wiping away time altogether--
The grey goes black and the frame
of you stands stark.

We belonged to the gods
and left our lives in their hands.
They crumbled away like chalk
and left their white-tinted prints
on our hands.

09/29/2009

Posted on 09/29/2009
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