I want to dig open your grave I want to dig open your grave to smell you again. I want to carry your bones in my messenger bag, so I can look at them when I'm bored at the dentist's Or when I'm in a queue for my tickets at the cinema I want to brush the remaining filaments of your hair at dawn And wash them at noon And humor them at night I want to find an inch of your skin and sow it in your ceramic pot You loved it so; and it always yielded well. I want to bury your crippled teeth under my pillow And push daisies in the sockets of your skull. Now tell me, is it any good that you rest so quietly? Foolish are my feet to tread so lightly. Midnight come, and I will whisk you out Be equipped, my dear For we will paddle off into the moonlight like old times.
I do not want to feel it; But every early morning A certain restlessness creeps into my bed Gently stroking the surface of my head Sending down tingles of misery, Paralysing every trinket of hope. What could it be, I wonder Desperately finding a way around the fact But alas, temporary consolation Is now falling short in covering the act It has been you, just you Victorious, both in capturing my fancy And making me feel inadequate. You, and your uninhibited ways - Refreshing and reckless, And nonchalant (and demeaning) demeanour Were never for me. How could I be so wrong? When I saw you then, I thought about possibilities When I see you now, I think about my flaws. I do not want to feel it; But I feel resentment. For wounding me in your own strange way For making it seem like it will never go away And for lingering and hovering like a bunch of moths Around any found r...
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