Nov 26

Confessions of the Broken Hearted

I am a thief. 

I have stolen
time so that 
it stretches like
pizza dough; 
I have hid it in my pockets
like a stolen chocolate. 
I have melted and 
molded it to fit
the shape of 
my palm, 
I have stolen 
I stole it to 
make the 
seconds feel like minutes
and the minutes feel
like hours and
the hours feel like days and
the days
feel like

I have stolen 
time so that 
it bends and 
ripples to go by
my rules, so that
we'll never have to say
so that
I'll never have 
to kiss your 
cold cheek
one last time,
as tears
create oceans
on my face,
and tissues become
paper sailboats, 
lost in the
storm of my sadness, 
I. Steal. Time. 

So that it stops, 
and when 
I look at you, 
our smiles are 
forever frozen. 
No motion
will make them 
cease to exist. 

I steal time
so that I 
won't remember
that awful room,
cold and 
smelling like 
stale guilt
and sorrow, 
the only brightness is you, 
and your heartbeat
becomes the radio. 
We're starting to learn 
the steady beeps
and soon we'll sing along. 

I steal time 
so I'll never 
have to say 
I steal time 
so that goodbye, 
when it must come, 
seems like 
and forever 
is a promise that 
only time can keep. 

I am a thief. 

Audio download:
Audio Recording 3.m4a