Brunette Silhouette Cigarette
Small shaped puddle holes, Come tumbling over my feet.
Walking...scraping my hand, bleeding sweat.
Sun glowing darkness over brunette hair.
The vain made burning desires, tapping over keyboard notes.
This pain isn't the same, It is gone to cut a perpetual imagery.
Feeling that comforting embrace around five arms.
Stars stick to my eyes, making it hard to see thin blisters of pain.
While bleeding the love, Perhaps I had,
As the asphalt absorbs the love I lost that February.
I'm scared of daily sunrise, of what it might bring:
A lost memory, an outlines silhouette, a dark havoc,a song that fell out of my
palms,
a sweet stare, a cold tear, a gasp for breath, a drop of blood...all compressed in
an old-fashioned cigarette.This coffin will rule everything.
A sheer white dove hits the wall,
And the nearby twigs picked up a heart beat.
The electrical cords used as everyday materials:
Shoelaces and artificial belts, for over sized pants bough at a bargain store.
This song makes my heart stop for eternity.
It was short, but now it's late...It dried so quickly!
It belongs in the colorful recycle bins, we find in front of our homes.
Recycled for souls who need, dried, worn out, lonely broken hearts.
The restroom has suffered many maltreats.
It has seen many, images he wishes he never saw.
Maltreat, he calls it.
Maltreat in his walls.
Coming from sour dreams, from your room.
Scratches in the thoughts, in my chest.
On brunette head, you have seen many splatters you might regret.
You count the picture they drew of many tears, you might of wasted.
On those early months of a new depressing year.
Some few wilted roses you might see in my covered eyes,
With brunette hair...Silhouette feelings, and cigarette apparel.
Copyright © Minerva Ochoa | Year Posted 2005
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