Passerby

Conversation is a dying art form.
It will soon be viewed in museums,
mostly passed by as an uninteresting exhibit.
People will move on to the portraits beside it
of picturesque beauty, with snippets of an ideal life.

“I want it all and once I have it, I want more,
unless, of course, you want to give it freely.”
It’s a catch and release sort of life.
“I want you until I have you, then want not.”

Don’t you ever get tired of the constant chase?
Isn’t there a hand you want to always hold?
Or is fear the only thing you’ll hold onto?

I have this large heart, vacancy sign lit,
but I am nothing more than a vacation spot.

They always come, but they always go.

cls09222015

Advertisements

Scorched Ink

I live in the strokes of ink that leave my pen.
I’m not sure where I’m going, only where I’ve been.
I inhale hope and exhale hate.
I don’t want to be defined by my mistakes.
I feel lost, without map or compass–
Always waiting for a missed bus.
I have the world at the tip of my fingers.
Scared to reach for fear of blisters
Because the closeness burns
And the pain isn’t something I can unlearn.

cls08182015