I don't know
What it's like
To have it all on the floor
Before you in pieces,
Waiting to be left there
Or picked up, a few at a time,
Placed misshapen into a head-
Into a life; the missing ones
Leave you disfigured
And they won't be replaced
In this one little picture.
I don't know
Why it's hard
To will the feelings away,
But in bittersweet silence
You ask to feel every day-
For fear that nothing will
Steal the wrenching waves
And leave a sea so barren,
Thoughtless, and mindless.
No, I can't imagine
How vivid it feels.
I don't know
When I started
To think this way, to hope
That I'd be where you are
One day, so I could say
To you, I know what you're feeling
And this is how you take
The pieces that don't exist
And make them reappear,
Every one, bolder than the next,
Like oil paints on a lithograph.
I don't know
Why I want
To feel, when I sense
That life's too romantic for me.
I'd rather much have shelter
With my oblivion, of course!
Than to have love lost- or whatever
Real thing existed for you, I'd rather
Not give it a name, for I know
Deep down, the pieces
Won't be replaced.
