Silverstein Poster
I found this bitsy bit of poetry while cleaning off my desk today. It's gotta be at least a few months old. I remember thinking it was really crappy but I read it over and I like it now.
What is it about Tuesdays?
Call him tonight, ASAP.
Folded up inside my pocket
Makes my hands so unsteady
There's a button missing
Every time I pick it up
My thumb will stay and stutter
And then clatter, heart will stop
Numbers carved into my palm
Feel it burnt right through my skin
Can't look, beautiful scar
Tells the secret of my sin
It's one of the few poems I've written that wasn't about Alex.
I don't know your thoughts these days
We're strangers in an empty space
What is it about Tuesdays?
Call him tonight, ASAP.
Folded up inside my pocket
Makes my hands so unsteady
There's a button missing
Every time I pick it up
My thumb will stay and stutter
And then clatter, heart will stop
Numbers carved into my palm
Feel it burnt right through my skin
Can't look, beautiful scar
Tells the secret of my sin
It's one of the few poems I've written that wasn't about Alex.
I don't know your thoughts these days
We're strangers in an empty space