i know someday you'll have a beautiful life...i know you'll be a sun in somebody else's sky, but why can't it be mine?...

i'm not in love with the ending...but at this point in time, i can't figure it out...

let us bow down:

my small-town prophet
glazed in stagnant circles,
always unsure of where your bed
should be. to say-
i've always loved your words,
well, we both know how you
would twitch with that compliment.

i've kept your chatters
hidden with the indian blanket.
i've kept my prayers
stored in a first-aid kit
just in case you need that bandage.

i am diseased.
you predicted it all
with the stroke of silence
against my cheek, and like a river
it will never stop flowing.