Monday, September 15, 2008

Old Poem 2

The table you sit at is empty
The things you want are the things you can't have
The doors are closed and the windows are broken
The news is on but you aren't listening
Your eyes are tired from tears
You lost too much sleep over the man you hate

The dishes are smashed on the floor
And the phone is unhooked
The wind blows hard at the windows but you don't hear
You only listen to the blood flowing in your veins

See, over the hill is where your future ends
At the town deli
Where the lights are dim and the men are old
Making lattes and carnivorous sandwiches
The air is dull and dark with smoke
Scarred and crying you walk o the broken pay phone
But you have no money to call the people you have left

Tired of trying so hard
Tired of being someone else
You sit alone
On our bed
With our life
In our walls

Alone and empty
You sit alone

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