The Light Through the Blinds

The earth will gain every bit you shed
the sky will bleed every tear in your head.
dawn will come upon your waking eyes
this scratched desk that bears your name.
glowing as the leaning rays illuminate the memories in relief of life as furniture.
pen teeters on the edge
you’ve long since given up
on the scrawl in front of you.
you trace the words you wrote before
or perhaps the words of someone else.
Someone else whose seen the dawn as many times as you.
Someone who can feel the night die.

you want to grasp the pen.
to write the words they wrote before
give up before you even lift your head.
You could never write their words.
For their words are permanent
like the high tide of dawn: yours are fleeting.

through your blinds you trace the silver light
with your finger tips
and music plays from the scratches of this memoir
like some faded record.

the cool light hits your bed
the shadows remind you of past lovers
and you can see the sleeping forms
of all those you’ve never loved
convenient warmth
much like coming dawn.
much needed when you’re coming down.

move for bed
like you tried to move the pen
sick of repeating past compositions
the words never sound as good as they did then
they’ll never sound as good as the memories do in your head.

sun intrudes its head
through the space in the blinds
that are level with your wide awake sleeping eyes.

rubbing your eyes
the only stain this page is getting tonight.
and the splinters in your nose

remind you of when you decided to write your name
something you wish you’d never done
you wanted to remember
you never want to remember.

its been a long time since then
many sleepless nights
art has become vandalism
you wrote so much you signed your name off the end of the page
you smiled
its been so long

this papers of no use.
as was this night.
its soaking wet with morning dew.

fiction and reality are the same.
when it all ends the same way.
in the wastebasket.
on top of your sheets.
crumpled up.
with your clothes still on.

Always surrounded by the ghosts of twilights past.

The Light Through the Blinds

inochisurushi

Joined August 2009

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  • inochisurushi
desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait
desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait

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