about a friend


Distance

I cannot float
on helium,
like most.

I drop,
straight down
without a sound

then hit the ground.


And you can be mad,
or sad,
or glad about it-
I really don't care

since you are not of I
and I am my own
paper airplane,
perishable.


Silently
I degrade,
available to none.


Fading,
my suns
bleed and run
into the next day


as I fade
into a dark hearted humour
you thought you knew,
as you
sit and stew


in an imaginary turbulence
you own
(but still don't know)


sadly
you are sad
still.



Ill
as I am
I see empty fill your hands-
open only to grief
and lies
that speak softly
then cut,
redder than these sunsets.




Poetry by intothehaze
Read 861 times
Written on 2005-11-18 at 17:45

Tags Red  Float  Paper 

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