old
she wants to paint my hands, so i let her, she messes me up bad. steals my songs, spills the paint, the wine. breaks glass. won't stay the night. hurt me. you know, i can't write without you. without the presence and absence of you. wrapped up, all in one. almost like christmas, but under more trees. much more trees than these small plastic fakes. between walls. we had no walls, back then. that spring. that summer. the fall i fell, no, the fall you left me with the handsome doctor in the hospital, because you wanted coffee and i wanted truth. you leave me angry and smiling. wreaking and wrecking and reaking this room of you. my favorites. she's sitting above me, saying "it's different, without you. not seeing you" and i cant help myself. but draw pictures of one season and ignore door. i wanted maybe, much more than you could ever offer this town, because this is where i am.i will only see you on days that come in holiday shapes. "you arent as pretty as you could be. you arent smart enough, either."