I owe you an apology. 

Alone, I traveled to the seaside
of endless chains of white rosaries, beneath.
They were the cushions between my toes,
as I sat on a fusty bench.
A place where, in the morning,
the water was a firefly jar.

I journeyed to a woman, who
loved me more than you.
So as a deceiving artist, I
drew her with my finger – sculpted her even.
Still, she was only a ghost,
after all.

And then to the edge,
of a rooftop somewhere everywhere.
Where what I saw below,
were your arteries. veins. valves.
Doused in vermilion and something more.
Scissored.

But I am sure,
I had left your heart
in a safe place.
Pumping. 

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I'm not much of a poet, buuut, I was listening to 'To Be Alone With You' by Sufjan Stevens, and became thoroughly depressed and decided to channel all that depressed-ness into a poem. Which may not be all that wonderful, but is likely to be better than anything I've written in the past few months... which would be nothing.

Ahem, well. That is all (:

updated Jun 11 '10 by jdxx