Today I realized just how lonely,
holding the paperglass flowers in your room,
seating on the carboard stack mess,
with that nasty air crawling.
 
The same whisper from years ago,
when the bottle spilled and you didn't care.
The same heart shaped burn,
under the carpet taped with shame,
where not even the holy ghost could see it.

...No body but us...

.....Because it was taped, sealed, strapped.
Electric fusion with your shame.

Tears crawl out of my vise, falling atop that heart shaped scar,
invisible under the regrets.

The flowers are held to me.
To my own heart,
charred, worthless scrap of shit.

..One... Two... Three.

But there were six.

Six little shiny flowers with fake gardenia mist.
Fake dew made of cheap glue.
straigth from my heart, to you.

But now there's three.
Chipped, and faded, sprawled across the floor,
underneath the dust with last year's footprints.
Last year's hands, crawling four legged across the floor,
with one or two whores.

Us.

I just realized how lonely it has been,
holding my little flowers close between cold straved fingers.
Starved of you.

I wait here, even for twenty more years,
holding the paperglass flowers.
That you gave me.

[Don't forget it.]

Cry.

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