My mouth is a graveyard
It’s Monday again.
You don’t complain about the day like you used to,
and your smile comes two seconds late half of the time
(I know your thoughts are in another place) -
And I want to tell you that it’s okay if it still hurts,
that you don’t have to smile if you don’t want to.
And that I love you.
It’s Tuesday again.
We go to school and then to work,
we talk of the things we have to do that week,
and we fall on my bed at the end of the day.
We stare at the ceiling and you reach for my arm -
And I want to tell you something, anything.
About the bills I can’t pay, or the things that I’m feeling.
And that I love you.
It’s Wednesday again.
You always sit near me,
hold my hands when they tremble
and wrap me in your arms to keep the nightmares away
because you know I feel like everything is my fault -
And I want to tell you that I’m sorry,
for all the things that have happened to you; because of me.
And that I love you.
It’s Thursday again.
You don’t tell me to stop talking
when I complain about how the days are going too fast
and how things just never stop.
You surround me with DVDs and snacks
and talk to me about nonsense all day
and it feels like the old times when
being first line was the more important thing -
And I want to tell you that that’s all I needed
(that and you to hold me a little closer at night).
And that I love you.
It’s Friday again.
And some new creature comes to harm us
and I watch you try keep everyone safe from it
(and I worry, because you don’t care if you get hurt).
When everything ends again, I spend hours caressing your skin;
thinking about all the injuries you have endured -
And I want to tell you to stop holding the world upon your shoulders
And that I really don’t want to see you die.
And that I love you.
It’s Saturday again.
I make a home in your arms
and live there until the day ends.
And I worry how fast will Friday come again,
and how much harm will it make this time
and how much minutes, how much hours
do we have have left to kiss
before hell comes upon us again -
And I want to tell you that I’m scared.
And that I love you.
It’s Sunday again.
And it feels like reaching the top of the Everest.
There is nothing much to do or say; just breathe -
And I love you.
-My mouth is a graveyard - J. E.
You don’t complain about the day like you used to,
and your smile comes two seconds late half of the time
(I know your thoughts are in another place) -
And I want to tell you that it’s okay if it still hurts,
that you don’t have to smile if you don’t want to.
And that I love you.
It’s Tuesday again.
We go to school and then to work,
we talk of the things we have to do that week,
and we fall on my bed at the end of the day.
We stare at the ceiling and you reach for my arm -
And I want to tell you something, anything.
About the bills I can’t pay, or the things that I’m feeling.
And that I love you.
It’s Wednesday again.
You always sit near me,
hold my hands when they tremble
and wrap me in your arms to keep the nightmares away
because you know I feel like everything is my fault -
And I want to tell you that I’m sorry,
for all the things that have happened to you; because of me.
And that I love you.
It’s Thursday again.
You don’t tell me to stop talking
when I complain about how the days are going too fast
and how things just never stop.
You surround me with DVDs and snacks
and talk to me about nonsense all day
and it feels like the old times when
being first line was the more important thing -
And I want to tell you that that’s all I needed
(that and you to hold me a little closer at night).
And that I love you.
It’s Friday again.
And some new creature comes to harm us
and I watch you try keep everyone safe from it
(and I worry, because you don’t care if you get hurt).
When everything ends again, I spend hours caressing your skin;
thinking about all the injuries you have endured -
And I want to tell you to stop holding the world upon your shoulders
And that I really don’t want to see you die.
And that I love you.
It’s Saturday again.
I make a home in your arms
and live there until the day ends.
And I worry how fast will Friday come again,
and how much harm will it make this time
and how much minutes, how much hours
do we have have left to kiss
before hell comes upon us again -
And I want to tell you that I’m scared.
And that I love you.
It’s Sunday again.
And it feels like reaching the top of the Everest.
There is nothing much to do or say; just breathe -
And I love you.
-My mouth is a graveyard - J. E.