You're bruising my wrists
against the uneven edges of this reality,
Swinging your bat at the silence
until all that remains
are these sun-kissed memories
Floating in a cracked fishbowl...
It seems like you've been gone for years,
but I can still hear your spirit
climbing my stairs at night,
searching for the loophole
until you've instead discovered
and my inconsistency.
Your hands have been shaking ever since
we stopped making eye contact.
I've been standing here with my arms open,
but I'm starting to wonder if you can even
see past your own trembling creations...
Now all we can do
is collapse in the rain,
tasting the air,
and feeling the thunder
sift between our toes.
Don't ever be someone's slogan, because you are poetry.