Febreze

looking back at pictures of two voices
turned mute and one love turned cold.
The winter jackets clutched tightly
protect these bodies from the cold
- no one else will.
Modern beatnik’s rocking their heads back and forth
Swaying to the music
and the moves
of the generation’s avant-garde.
Potential Revolutionary submissive protestors
Who will whine and complain
but never leave their couches.
Who play grand theft auto and drink 40s of Old English
Driving through Westport
Looking for their next fix.
Winding up in Bethel behind a train station,
Swapping 50s for a gram of snow.
Those who every now and then
Remember that feeling that day
Where the bitter wind and cold
Were nothing when compared to her eyes.
And the look on her face when she kissed you goodbye.
The hatred and hurt that pumps through your veins
When you see her face
And you know it was unavoidable.
When you see the slow decay in the crumbling walls
Of the house you built
Collapsing around you
And you curl up in a ball,
Hugging your knees to your chest
Clawing at the shelf,
Looking for a cigarette
To ease the memory
Of that day
In the red and leather jacket,
the plastic white chairs
the words don't hurt
it's the silence.