The Nature of Love is Work. Hurting, I fall into the news of a WRECKED, bleeding heart. Apart, it shatters into a million pieces, breaking and aching. You don't seem to care, except for her. I do not concur. Falling once again, the news I picked up on the rain-stained sidewalk leaves me cold. I sit on the slate; I feel so old. In a mirror of poetry, I see my heart, bloody from things I've not yet experienced. It bleeds dreams and wondrous things. It bleeds broken thoughts, shattered by words that have not been said by loves that weren't true. I get up and reach toward a sky that only seems to cry when I want it to fly. It cries yet again. I walk to the newspaper stand (red) an throw down the paper; bad news: GIRL, LOVE LOST AT AGE 16. The Broken Dream, Sight Unseen. I walk around the corner, lost in a daze and glazed eyes fall upon a worse sight, but I am gone before I linger. I ghost over, meandering, to a shop window and I see myself, a tragic, wobbling mascara tear. My dark eyes see Fear and then disappear. I peer deeper and see a classic story of The End is Near. So it's not very clear! Who knows if this rain puddle of muddle and loss is for real? Maybe it's a steal: stolen words of an unclear time...In dreams we walk to a gas station. You hold me, peering into the depths of dreams and screams. Remember how I'm not your favorite record?? Well that's over and done with. In dreams, she is! Your eyes gaze through mine and you see a collapse of broken shine. With it, you shape a star and form letters that travel far you sent them to me and I burned them in a night of frenzied panic. Manic, I stare back into your eyes, a chocolate puddle with a disguise. I smell you with every demise, whether mine or no. We speed away as you break with "How was your day?" and I can't answer because it's just a play. Gas station being the stage. I'm now alone, in my home. EmEmohe radio. Why can't things ever go the way I want them to go?
