that i don't make that curve to his house anymore

maybe i say hello

maybe it hits my heart when we're dead together

but i don't make the drive

he comes here instead

.

from the exhaust pipe

i sail out onto new wind

leaving rust and rhythms

patterns fingered in dust

letting sands fall through

i miss the old you.

i miss the old me.

i miss the old us.

.

"remember when we were nice to each other?"

i said to you.

you didn't answer.

.

i knew when i couldn't stand the smell of you,

feeling sick, you on my clothes, you in my hair.

when i saw the words "tasting the pillow with my grin"

and it all felt so far away.

i knew when i wrote a slam

i spit you out

i threw you up

i was your disease

i set you to my rhyhm

gave you a beat into my pulse

and it will never be final

or quantized

we're taken too many steps

in opposite directions

.

you don't sound like yourself

someone else's voice

i catch myself in someone's skin

and send myself straight to death

but you've caught on too quickly

and save me instead.

.

i'm sorry you

i'm sorry me

i'm sorry us

thrice over and it still feels blind

in words

you'll always been five minutes away

my heart won't change

and you won't leave.

so in the summertime

we hate each other

to lessen the pain

or to regret the way

we forgot about everything

and how we've changed.

when you'd skip work to see me

when you'd call me just to say hey,

want to hear all about my day

when you'd worry,

make me music for the long days,

go anywhere just to be with me...

when you'd whisper.

do i paint you too pretty?

yes.

so i'll be gone first now.

i learn everytime

no one likes the hero.

no one likes a good friend.

you had to be both.

now, you're dust.

and i'll take the ocean anyday

to memories of you

dry and rolling

down mountainsides.

so between if and when

i'll write you a letter

send you a story

kiss you goodbye

and live on..........


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