Then one day I saw you walkin’ down that little one-way :: song of the day

kiss by kristen brown

Keep Art Alive :: “Kiss” :: Art by Kristen Brown

Intermissions
(by me)

Sometimes we make impossible choices,
on a mathematical graph version of life,
full of boxes to check,
and equations to solve,
as if it were that easy to pick a path to follow,
or a who that will hold our hand along the way.

In the dark rooms of decision makings,
we all just stand staggering alone.
Images flash like tiny reels of film,
that play on the insides of each eyelid.
Some nights I watch the movie over and over,
rewinding that one scene again,
as I pray for the escape hatch of sleep to open up,
and take me.

Instead there is only this labored breathing,
caught and tangled,
between the webs of regret and lies;
you know the ones we practice like a valedictorian’s speech,
thanking people we secretly loathe,
for making us into some unrecognizable figure,
as we tie on the mask and take a final bow.

She wrapped a ring around forever,
and kissed you hard on the mouth,
with tongue turns and teeth marks,
left on your bottom lip.”

You made it mean everything,
in a moment parked crooked on the side of the road,
to a girl trying to erase everything she had broken.

She handed over the pen,
asked you to write the story of us,
twisted her arms into upside-down angles.
You saw the misplaced pieces she wished she could be,
that she threw back in anger at you,
screaming that you had it all wrong.

We had it all wrong.
All along there was that sound,
the fuzz and whir of a far off engine.
We have all heard it before.
The whispers and coos that land at soft parts of our skin,
right there close to the ear,
tricking us into thinking we can run from this.
Come away and leave the mess behind you, girl.”
We ran so hard and fast,
that our shoes split in two.
Two souls breathless and begging for water.
“You were not someone she wanted to run to,
or away from,
but she did run and run and run.”
All the kisses worked a magic,
That slowly bled into the lie,
of what we would inevitably become;
the subsequent error in the formula,
the algebraic failure of a broken-hearted kind of love.
Sorry that I hurt you.

Skyway (live) :: Paul Westerberg

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