March 11, 2010

You said that you hated your hair
And the broken glass of my thoughts shattered in the sink
We were bristles and foaming comfort
“A very domestic activity”
When I found my keys and cigarettes
You sighed
And I didn’t sigh that cold and lonely breath
Locked inside the back of my throat
Held hostage by my tongue
And I couldn’t speak
Because I am an idiot when it comes to these things
And you barred the door with wooden arms
Crossed and sullen
And I didn’t storm the barricade
I wished and wished with all my might
To have that wish I wished that night
But my feet were too small
And my hands were shaking
And so I slept in my clothes and regrets

© Matt L. Hall 2010


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