Holding Out

and in the end, she wrote for the beginning . Breaking the ends of pencil points. fragments of what proved less useful in this latest life plan swept up from dustbunnies in mental caves of myself and you somebody like a perfect stranger perhaps i need more of and less trash canned talk of what is what and fills these blank spaces quite nicely but writing only helps with hindsight

and less with expecting better outcomes at discount prices lucky days big breaks and ashtrays that make me dream somehow instead of seeing myself in third-person which is always more telling than planned or pretended and so it goes that she had to get down in some tangible form

What words make up lines which then we call lyrics To the song in her head and the way it gets louder and urgent and vital

And whispers at night and begs of her earplugs to listen just hear all that you're missing and All that you've left and can't know yet beyond a hunch of course that could launch a full-scale assault on the senses with just one slight breeze

maybe blowing the right type of nonsense and easy smile into me and possibilities like these stack up like dice on felt tabletop thrown

like stones on the sleepy lake surface tension breaking i want that and the proof i need to feel real as i need to be sometimes is in the hopeful chill and straightened spine you get when your eyes find mine and puzzles in black and white fall into line without blinking twice

i want you to remind me of the best i think still sits lying in wait inside me and keeps me writing lines about how i hate sleeping diagonally and creeping into my waking life is this, i guess i can call it an honest try at something different for once and why not... i think it's about time i stopped using less question marks and elipses instead of what maybe could be you at the end of my sentences

fillers of blank spaces written in ink to hell with erasers security and certainty wrapped up in beach towels what i will find out first might end in fireworks and sand angels

i want the works and exclamation marks to come spilling from your lips, that fit just right around my own i hope for nothing less than this and maybe even just a little bit more than boredom or worse- sitting here wondering where I stand in the cosmic plan, perhaps or if it still matters that i keep searching in spite of myself for that corner piece to get my own puzzle done afterall.