Litkicks Message Board Archive

to her

Posted to Poetry

Who makes this happen? this sobriety
Because I make the drunk vision of me

And I’ll smile and maybe take the stumble
But there’s no room, the clouds are so crowded they rumble

So, I’m happy with introspective talk
While I take this time, on my empty sidewalk

In the window, there’s a reflection
Of my own self pity, my own condemnation

Don’t fly to Europe is all she asks of me
But that’s my instinct, this malefic ability to flee

Maybe I could love you; I just don’t know how to speak
It’s hard to sing, it’s hard to see, my soul is just too weak

Reverb of love’s acoustic is silent for a while
And this young heart joins your love’s old dead pile