someone's juliet

there
are more and more
of these nights now.

the: "under the sheets
I'm not coming
out never."
nights.

and
and then
your
corduroy\voice
shakes
me alive.

if a girl
who paints
on her
eyebrows
can
deal.

so can i.

and
so.

here i am.

writing alone,
to
a you that will
never
hear my
distant whisper
of praise
and love
and crushed cigarette hopes
and
it's
raining
in my soup again,
a plum
red sky
swallowed
all the decent in my bones.

what does
it feel like to wake up next to:
all you ever needed.

an empty? a want? a calm?
i don't
know
but i'd sure like to try it out
for a day or 10.

and
i
just know
you
are
are
are
definitely
someones juliet.

the problem with pictures

orange street lights,
serenade,
our dance.

boots kick
the sidewalk
slush.

i,
couldn't
wait
for
every
day to begin.

and
then
they all ended.

they all
gave out,
like a chair with
half sawed legs.

the ceiling
fan laughing
at me.

its cool.
its cool.
its cool.

i'll just
pretend.

i never fell.

and i'll keep all your secrets.
and i'll never give out your real name.
and i'll ever always never forget to remember
the day you left.