Box Talks

I seem to get better responses when I write in this style.

We're standing on the highest floor, I don't hear you anymore

Amidst the wind and howling chords of this city's awkward chorus

I need to set my feet into the flowing songs of streets

Walk out the window to the unknown, I hear you singing, "Please, don't go."

I stand inverted in the street, under the cars I plant my feet.

The thumping bass as they drive by-- I lean in to kiss their eyes

Intoxicating waiting for the next refrain. The verse a curse,

A story between melodies. I'm floating now and I I can hear you scream

"Don't go--"

What on earth is wrong with me? I feel as numb as one can be

I take a breath the next second and suddenly I feel everything

And then it starts again.

We're standing on the highest floor, I don't even have a reason anymore

Why use the window when there's a door? There's stairs? You're hair

Matted to your face by cement tears is a terrible discord

I never wanted to harm our melody to have to see you there

Screaming "Don't go."

What on earth is wrong with me? I held the beauty of the chaotic streets

And let it go for the unknown simple because I'm not my own.

I don't know why I don't think like everyone.

You're begging, "Don't go."