on itches that can't be scratched for fear of excess bleeding:

I've discovered
(far too late I'm afraid)
who I am and what you mean
(unfortunate, unfortunate)
I'm moving on, as if I needed some excuse to do so
in life, in love
I owe you more apologies than I can articulate
and you probably will decline just as many
though you pretend to be contented
you too have felt this need for closure
and I suppose we'll have to give it the old put off
toss it on the rear burner and leave the stove on
and leave the house
for some unfortunate turn of events to deal with

I want to see you again
someday
I hope you still recognize me
but I've learned that trips through forests
and snowy hills
and deserts with aimless highways
do something drastic to the physical appearance of one's self image
Still, I hold onto a childlike hope
that you
waiting in this
the hall of unfulfilled dreams
and memories that won't fade
t-shirts that don't get washed
a place that fears the soap will wipe away the fondest stains
and leave me bare and clean-slated
when all I long for is happy reminiscence

maybe you disagree
but I can't convince you either way
I can just hope that this story doesn't end on a cliffhanger
for my arms are tired

It's not the end i fear
but the falling.



someday I'll see you again
and maybe you'll understand how I feel about you
and about everyone else
and maybe I'll see all of you someday
and you'll be lined up to hear my final word
to be enlightened as to why you should give me another chance


please catch me.