Lost and Found

I haven't written since you stole my song.
I've spent these nights staring, instead,
at a ceiling of stars.
I haven't painted since you made me blind.
I've spent my days staring, instead,
at a canvas of you.
pictures of you..

I've spent lives on them,
adding layers of fading paints
to turn your perfect face
into something else,
something that doesn't know lust.

I should have known,
I should have known-

I've been awake every night
through to the morning,
listening to the breathing
of the dead
and far away.
I've been talking at night
to the ghosts in my mind
about the way It was,
how it's going to be tomorrow.

But every word I say,
every verse I write,
comes from you
coming from me.

But I have my faith
in the absurdity of heartbreak.
I live in a world
you'll never walk through.

and when you die,
or disappear,
I'll wake up-
and realize there's nothing,
nothing, nothing more
to wake up to.
just a ghost
dead on the floor.



that was something I wrote almost a year ago. hmm... interesting