Imogen Heap
September 22, 2009 by lastgunslinger
I just have to say it,
cause even these
flickers and statics
remind me of
how the
promises
died
without so much as
a flash
or a sound.
This must be
what she
was pertaining to
when she wrote
nonsensical thoughts
like oily marks,
coffee rings,
ransom notes,
you hiding
and me
seeking.
Somewhere
in all this
mutual mess
inhabits a ring,
deformed
where it had made
bloody contact
with your face,
reminding me
forever
of reality
and its
malleability.
Don’t get me
wrong.
I’m just saying.
