Wax Lips

I’m thinking about writing songs, I make up things that I just sing to myself, but I haven’t composed anything since high school (and those were really basic things).

The last time I saw you I kissed you on wax lips.

The last time I saw you, you put my hands on your hips.

The last time I saw you, we were ready to ditch

This world

For each other.

The last time I saw you we went out dancing

Partners and partners, but our eyes kept catching,

The last time I saw you, you kept on telling

Me that

I should remember

The last time I saw you we made the big plan,

The last time I saw you we were ready to land

The last time I saw you I thought I’d see you again.

I thought I’d see you again



You are all spines

And I am all punctures

Waiting to happen.

I’m sorry I used you

As an instrument of my own destruction

By saying it was fine

That I was also all needles.

But once I saw where the wounds could be

It seemed fitting and right.

Because a weak spot

Broken and healed

Is no longer weak.

Another Dead Man’s Voice

They turned you into another

Dead Man’s Voice

That washes over the living

Wears them down

Brings them near.

They turned you into another

Grey Stone Statue

Where children aren’t

Supposed to play

They do, still

You’d like that.

They made you a bill

An edict, a chapter,

A Memorial Highway

They shook hands over you

They washed their hands over you

But long ago,

When your chest still fell

And you broke Statues

Shouted over Dead Men’s Voices

Ignored the edicts and Memorials,

You told me something.

That I will never share.

I will not let those words

Change into a quote

I will not give them to mouths

That will let them die on their tongues.

I will keep them with me,

So as much as they try to make you

Just a cold statue

And a few faded words

There will still be a bit of your breath

Left in this world


Runs like a rabbit from a shot that can’t catch her,

But the rope is still hers alone.

Always feels it in her,

Always feels it ready,

And she’s sinking like a stone.

And she can run,

And she can leap,

As far as any can go,

But at the end of the day,

It’s such a short way,

To the end of the rope.


– Continuation of one of the first poems I posted here, I finished it a while ago, but never actually wrote it down. Sometimes I sing this to myself while doing dishes.