And it’s been 1, 2 years now
But I still falter when I hear your name
And I’m left with a bitter taste in my mouth
Because I can’t find anyone else to blame
No, I won’t write you a song
No I won’t speak of you again
I don’t want to trace my fingers over your outline
I won’t paint you into my past
I won’t paint you a portrait of that relentless pain
And if all that stood between us,
was a sickness of my mind
Then I wouldn’t be here on my own
Tracing my fingers over our outlines.

And it’s easy to pretend to know myself
Speak in riddles, morals, mantras
Handing them out like I’m enlightened
But all I see is our outlines.
And those lines are jarred now
And I’m here still, I’m here still
Still avoiding feeling, really feeling
Because what is there
Underneath the loneliness
What is there?

What is there
when there’s nothing to face but myself?

And I take 1, 2 steps forward
But it’s hard to conquer an anxious mind
So I’m back here again
Tracing my fingers over outlines
Measuring myself against a picture of a stranger
And I can’t find a reason to hate her
But I do.
Tracing my fingers over her outline,
filled with thoughts and love and dreams and pain
Just like mine.
And all that’s left are photographs
and images
and bitterness entwined
All that’s left are our outlines.
Outlines of a story left unwritten
In the shallows of my mind.

Published by


writer, musician, artist, joiner

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