parker’s desk

(writ­ten 01.21.2010)

whis­pered thoughts;
an affair between two lovers,
who have yet to meet.
tall fan spreads cold wind,
the pur­pose torn between choos­ing
a flick­er­ing can­dle or prick­led skin.
the music is dis­jointed…
ran­dom pieces fit together,
though noth­ing like a puzzle.

i fuck­ing hate puzzles

those eyes won’t go away
burned into my mind.
i don’t know who you are,
and i hate the hold you have over me.
or do i hate him?
the euphemism is elu­sive
like my sense of self.
i am lost though i deny it.

no.

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