(no subject)
Genesis
When irony bites back the hardest
And we could sit here for hours
Speaking through our fingertips
And I’d still hate you for all you’ve promised
And all you’re denying
I can barely make out your eyes in the rearview
Can’t tell if it’s you or I that’s crying
Your hair used to cut so softly
Before you had the words to form
Such elongated words to form
Such painful truths.
They flow like champagne
The night we exchanged traits
And molded you.
The tiny perfect nothing,
Pure with inexperience
And all we had to do was sing
Of little babies in their beds
With silly thoughts to fill their heads
Before boys and razors , grades and meds.
Before I drowned myself in wine.
Before your voice towered over mine.
Then so small and insignificant.
Just enough to make us gasp.
Thrown spaghetti and spilled milk.
“No use dying over spilled milk.”
And even if you did I wouldn’t miss you
I wouldn’t even dare to kiss you
I’d miss my tiny, perfect nothing
Pure with inexperience,
I’d miss singing to you
Of little babies in their beds
With silly thoughts to fill their heads
Not the boys, not the razors, not the grades, not the meds
And I’d drown myself in wine.
Let your memory swallow mine.
However small and insignificant,
You never failed to make me gasp.
And only now, this thought I grasp
As I lie here dying,
It was you that I saw crying.
Samantha Phillips
When irony bites back the hardest
And we could sit here for hours
Speaking through our fingertips
And I’d still hate you for all you’ve promised
And all you’re denying
I can barely make out your eyes in the rearview
Can’t tell if it’s you or I that’s crying
Your hair used to cut so softly
Before you had the words to form
Such elongated words to form
Such painful truths.
They flow like champagne
The night we exchanged traits
And molded you.
The tiny perfect nothing,
Pure with inexperience
And all we had to do was sing
Of little babies in their beds
With silly thoughts to fill their heads
Before boys and razors , grades and meds.
Before I drowned myself in wine.
Before your voice towered over mine.
Then so small and insignificant.
Just enough to make us gasp.
Thrown spaghetti and spilled milk.
“No use dying over spilled milk.”
And even if you did I wouldn’t miss you
I wouldn’t even dare to kiss you
I’d miss my tiny, perfect nothing
Pure with inexperience,
I’d miss singing to you
Of little babies in their beds
With silly thoughts to fill their heads
Not the boys, not the razors, not the grades, not the meds
And I’d drown myself in wine.
Let your memory swallow mine.
However small and insignificant,
You never failed to make me gasp.
And only now, this thought I grasp
As I lie here dying,
It was you that I saw crying.
Samantha Phillips