If December Comes
if i make it to the end of september, will u bring me back with you?
i barely remember the feel of the cherry tree, but i think i can re-learn how to speak to you.
and my opened sores wont hang here from the skin like this forever,
and then i can cook for you and i can read to you and i can make a bed for us.
44 days. if october shows up, starts hanging around, i promise i will keep her secrets for a year.
until the dust blows, and leaves are dried up again, i will wait til the first dead leaves to breathe and beg and need you again.
ive got 2 dreams that revolve around my spine, every night. one is memory and one is a wish.
the memory is: alone, inside a shaking hotel room peeking through the blinds and the whole world is a violent shade of lavender.
the wish is: death becoming birth, everything ive ever loved and lost springing back up through a barren garden. and growing.
the loss of innocence; the return of destruction; the death of intelligence; the life of a stranger.
if i make it to the end of september, will you come looking, like i was something you misplaced?
i have forgotten the taste of a sweet red apple, but i know what it feels like when the rain is touching my skin.
my forest of insecurity is brighter in the summer, or in the reflection of the snow.
and then i could sing you to sleep, i could paint the walls of our home with your favorite colrs.
if december comes back and im still alone,
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