You taught me how to feel
ashamed only by swallowing the
sad realities i kept.
I only wrote your name and people
see it as country music thru the eyes
of a desired generation.
'Yesn't' is always the answer of a man
whenever i question him if he dreams
of you in his wide-awake yearning,
your name tattooed on his tongue,
written on an extra large white t-shirt,
in the fonts of your autograph,
call it a merchandise i'll wear everyday.
Oh Jolene, if i could just replicate your smile
into barbie accents of insecurities.
He refers you as a lottery prize
whenever he fixes his eyes
to your hour glass body,
your favorite place
has the same coordinates of the
restaurant we used to love,
this is now 'Heartbreak boulevard'.
Ethanol tears running up my throat,
raindrops dropping to my contagious leg
whenever i try to soothe the pain
with anodyne pills, like a fish
drowning due to the lack of oxygen,
that's the best analogy for my depression.
I like the lightning striking my
rusted skin whenever the clock strikes 2
and he was there thinking of you
until all my bones fell out,
like a fallen angel losing its dead end
wings carried by the wind of gushing
earthquakes and to eternity it will
suffer from the caves of perpetual darkness
to the hollowness of my puzzle pieces
in a way that every article of
clothing is only a shadow.
I'm your forgotten plant, yet whenever he
borrows your bloom, you can taste the wilt
of my roots until my hair water brings out sour
disasters in a way that his picturesque
fingers acts like a paintbrush that paints
a new meaning to 'true love',
your gravitational pull of blues
as the time of healing slows down;
to which to dust it returns for the blood
moon's greeting, a festival for mourns
to the graveyard boy, and a girl luring
him in a cage of lust.
Sunshines like this, are bought
with silica dust and the sun's fiery bones.
I still remember those days.
©sarah_
J