your love; a summer cloud, i was asleep but one night gravity hit the ground i woke up shattered i know you remember the lessons to keep me out of your head but again, I saw you've been writing a poem 'cause you ran out of errands? you moved in a blurry town bought a house here people stare you with menacing looks but I know your real estate is in Mexico.
you plant roses, and watch them die your fear; a lightning bolt hear the raining sound with ticking clocks, and frozen beat you stop smiling in midst of joy; uncertain Sometimes all alone you talk to the crystal chandeliers and velvet curtains seasons are fading and somewhat leaves falling you've been brave but now my love, i can see in your damp ocean eyes you're afraid.
your heart; an old museum i stare like a fleeting shadow as you play our memories on radio you walk all alone on lonely roads read books of known authors but make love with strangers in your porch you're restless you still carry burden on your tattered sleeves but i wish to sip away the sadness from your breath you know? i still miss you like the dying sun and i know sometimes you miss me too.
I'd last for a while, but my love; a sacred stone stars flicker in your eyes and your tears taste like gunpowder but you wait for my return you bring me life when you stop by the old cemetery and put daisies on the grave you cry as you glance at the tombstone just because it reads my name? but i've been here all along standing behind you watching you like a shadow but darling, if you don't believe then you could ask the blind man he saw me too.
You played me like a memory, as we drove back to December in a month of July. Had too much of everything that was too little But you couldn't rinse my tears in your cry?
No bridge I haven't burned that leads to your home, but there's an ocean of silence in your words and there's no boat I haven't rowed that could lesser the distance you never traveled.
You played me like a memory, within a familiar rhythm of a rusted old tune, a rose already wilted before fall like a voice of a familiar person on a wrong call.
I was a reflection of your sins, those poems and words were already written would you kill me with a bullet or sword? but you were a ripper, "Belove, you were a memory all along of someone I used to love."
Somedays birds don't fly above my window and somedays they roam, looking for something only they know. In the morning, they sit on a window & knock inside my mind Telling, "human wake up, it's the time" On a leafless tree or a big bough They make home where they grow.
Somedays birds don't chirp and it feels like a morning, without a bliss The dawn feels a little dark when birds stays silent & dogs bark. And somedays they awake my soul, warning me against the things only they know. In the evening when I roam they tell me "Dear, it's getting dark, you need to go home"