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Text in bold is by Matt Johnston
Text in italics is by Tabitha Brown
Please tell me,
What went wrong?
…and why I lay here.
Head weeping, and back aching
From my heart being so heavy
Could it have been…
I don’t know,
I never really know I guess.
It’s always like this for me,
What was,
What happened,
What could have been.
You just…
Don’t understand
The wilting of my days
The wretched pitch in my voice
this disparity that is left over
and over every time we
have no time.
Thought I could buy sand to fill this hour
And the glass from crashing dreams left on the floor
Of this Love spent…
... for nothing?
I don’t want to say that.
I don’t want to give this
Some typical sense of waste.
But I still feel like
our time has fallen through
like your sand through the cracks of my fingers…
fingers I remember
coddling the very bend in my waist
as walls looked on to artwork
as 2 shadows undulated greatness
until the Sun and moon kissed and traded places.
Was this a lust….
…or was this love, you say?
The things you did,
And the way you did,
They just
Hit me.
Like a boxer entering the ring,
Like some puny David
Squandering away from his goliath.
I could swear that smile
Held some kind of…
Reprise relentlessly rectifying
Happenstance of the past…
You, I, we Us…from
Here to there in the middle of everything.
The busy hustle of life
As we reside, prescribed each other…
…like some doctor’s note.
As much as this hurts,
as much feel as I let slip,
dribble,
drip down my lip.
For every tear that could have wept,
I think we both needed this…
More than days spent next to
Each other worlds apart…
Bleeding for renewal
Crying for a change
Neither was willing to make…
Neither was willing to break
From that comfortable position between the sheets…
Like black letters on white pages…
As we overlooked the meaning plastered…
The oh to obvious
puzzling conundrum
of lost sight
and tearful fights…
of a mess
strewn far to broad across
horizons,
and marigold melancholy
lost…
like some comfortable depression.
“Would you like some tears with that sir?”
A side order for you common sorrows...
Or how about a nice platter
Of Portrayal of Weakness delicately
Adorned with your…
Favorite upsets…
But im not hungry for
Piss poor efforts of
The same make up…
Middle to all night
Hers seemed…
Like a sneeze,
satisfying but not gratifying
or any other confused sense…
…is what I’m trying to make from this…
And he had the nerve to ask me…
What went wrong?
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