somewhere
in-between
death
and life
there is reincarnation
and somewhere between incarnations
There is a certain kind
of damnation
where wondering souls
wait
to receive new skin
And settle in
to strange bones
I image its like
a waiting room-
I imagine it is like
Waiting for you.
But now love, I am being called in
But somehow our separate skin
Is still within
each other,
Some how you remain under
my skin
And I must go within
And dig you
Out
I know it will bleed
And I see
The reflection of me
In each drip
Drop,
And it don’t stop
Till there is a puddle of truth, on the floor
and in it I see, the tragic poet in me
And all
I dreamed that this could be
Scrawled across the pages of time
I know I must close my eyes to truly see
Let my third eye guide me
But I wanted so badly
For you to be
my Richard Brautagin
and for me
to be your young lover
And we could write each other
strange
Little
poems
Over a horse-child breakfast
Or wrap ourselves in sheets
Above the city streets
In your bedroom at dawn
Painted
In shades of blue
but you
have been gone
For far too long
And I see your true colors from afar
And I just cant be
prosephanie
waiting to see
The light of spring
anymore
but ive earned my purgatory,
for eating the pomegranates of desire ........
and now I walk the wire between truth and a lie
And the notion that love dies, just like everything
Else.
s
 
Adding your comment: