Between The BLVD. And The Dreams...

I trace the outlines of my lover's face
it's etched with lines and drenched with age...
    I want to write these stories down on pages...
two at a time, with the fingers created from grace...
God who loves me so, let me know where I stand
    and how I go wrong in this altered reality...

Stop.
Breathe.
Go.
Fresh.
We are the ones who taste the future with all it's uncertain ingredients.

Stop.
Breath.
Go.
Rotting away our interior,
an exterior designed to keep out the pain.

Stop.
Breath.
Passing into a new world, we live for the moment and die for our troubles.

Stop.
And exhale... was it that hard,
your mirror is filled with history,
cracks and creases that cease to be
after we erase them from our misery...

Transcend, we say, but we can't do it ourselves,
allowing our own lies to falter on deaf lips
mute ears, hear nothing but white noise
  ... nothing but passing light years.