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What are you waiting for?
I cling to the thought of you
like a stain on your memory,
like a prayer on your lips
and I linger like the last minutes of the dawn,
just waiting for you to notice me.
Sometimes, I stare at your words for hours,
just trying to make sense of these scratching voices
that once lulled me to sleep at four a.m.
we should both stop smoking, you know.
It's killing us
slower than you could kill me
with your stabbing words;
but perhaps, just as painless.
And they're just words after all,
wrapped up in cigarette paper and smoked into existence;
like a handful of ghosts.
And when I attempt to photograph you,
you always come out as a colored blur
as if you are just too amazing
to be portrayed in focus.
and I don't blame the camera
for blinking too slowly in your presence
You stun
and inspire
the most beautiful disasters.
