02/06/2009 - Suture
My heart is always on my sleeve
Down my arm from a quarter or three
I’m getting so tired of that cliche
Like that’s the only noteworthy thing about me
I do care I really do
But occasionally I forget who’s who
Unless we’ve had a moment
of continuous happiness
Like birds before a storm
Haven’t I heard this line before?
My paranoia seems to be contagious
The only hope to be the friendship that made us
Who we want to be in the future
to piece together these fresh wounds like a suture.
