untitled

Drenched by the breath of summer heat, I’ve decided

to dig for the bullets of words you lodged in my brain. It is true

you are not special.

You do not possess the hands that could sculpt

a mountain. Or the voice that could forge the sound

of autumn rain. The glare of your smile does not offer

the same gentle pain, as the flares of the sun. And your eyes

are not the diamonds locked inside a crippled chest, asleep

between the toes of an ocean.

No,

you are not at all

special. You are only the air that is free for anyone

to breathe, the same air that I borrow for my petty needs. And

yes, you are most definitely not special.

For if you choose to disappear

inside a vacuum, even for just a while...

I and the lungs you gave life,

 will empty into a void. And nothing

in my finite existence can ever

call you home.

Date: Apr 15, 2011 (2am)

Where: room