one.
i sound like a violinist-
look at me, just look at me-
i’m anything but pleasing
but even unwilling,
you’re the closest thing i have
to an audience.
forgive me
for spilling my guts,
i’m making such a mess.
we can go home and in the morning
none of this will have happened.
let’s take our mistakes
and pack them neatly away,
put in little boxes
in the back of our minds.
take the string
from your finger
and forget it all.
two.
i wish i could set fire
to the things that have been plaguing me
but metal doesn’t burn,
and neither do memories.
–
written f16mar2012.
i and a lot of other people are really fond of this one.
–
idiography 