fighting distraction and not
but under my fingernail
is a speck of blood and the
dust in my eye and other
i'm moving my house to
under a tree by your
side.
the face in the window(there's
not) is twisting, contorting
and the face in my window
is yours. but i'm breaking and
aching and falling apart
just as quickly as they're built
up. tears tears tears under
underabove beneath but
maybe not next to. a tired
bout of schizoprenic dreams
brought about the simple
stains that stain my heart.
the point is, too many miles
and spaces between my fingers
and between our hearts. I
lost contentment the day I
drove away.
but maybe that was just today.
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