Messages to me
MESSAGES TO ME The sun rays sip through the curtains skewed slightly by the morning breeze, your large eyes wide open your smile radiant, I can hear crows gather outside in numbers to a sight of this carcass, my heart laid out plainly in the open, all my feelings chaotic. The rains wash over me like the sun's rays keep my blood flow warm, like the warmth in your voice was all that mattered in me there in a desolate cold place that never felt like a home, at all. The numbers piled up as the hours slowly counted down. Your soft voice, your whispers, a past me before. My past lives, my loves, a tight secret held close. The shards in that past truth painfully tear the skin in my hands, but I know you know this, as well as you know "everything" else that I said. I really don't believe in love poems, they just make me feel sad. They always feel like a vein on the wrist cut, held out airing whispers to hold my hand tight. Saying, do not let me bleed out. I imagine...
