I've been trying
But the truth of the matter is that I hate
The sound of my own voice.
I've been trying,
But the truth of the matter is that
My heart is not as hard as I thought it was,
As I hoped with all my soul it was.
The truth of the matter is that
You're a paperclip in water
And everything in the whole world is overwhelming.
The brown kiss on your living room table,
That scarf around your sister's headless, naked doll
The depression on the rug from your father's forehead and
His eyes, his eyes, his eyes
An echo of yours, but lighter.
But better.
The truth of the matter is that I'm near to bursting.
It's anxiety. It's sadness.
It's the tap, tap, tap of the faucet
The dead worms in my garden
The single curl of hair in my sink
Your daily horoscope, your fragile Capricorn heart
You remind me of dog-eared pages and just-kissed lips
Except you don't.
The truth of the matter is that it's original sin.
Can you imagine it?
His eyes his eyes his eyes and
A God who loves you.
A red that isn't blood. A you that isn't you.
