Cogs in wheels
even if used, broken,
	can still turn.
Hearts, though beating
in darker corners,
	can still burn.
"Don't care", you smiled
arms reaching and
	curving me to comfort and balm.
Bedlam, dread and
needle-stick words
	erased, inside your palm.
Queer, odd, a fluke -
the point of the
	finger, the weight of stares.
Sometimes like walking
into an empty room
	of still-warm chairs.
Follow your lead
like the dutiful cur
	walking with the blind.
You kiss-quiet
that subliminal bell,
	but it's abrasive to my mind.
Burned away
like a polaroid from
	decades, lifetimes past.
You said - well, you
said alot of things
	but do words ever last?
Your time is yours
never asked for
	it to be captive, mine.
So finger to lips
debark, end, hush
	up this unmasked whine.
Blah blah blah aloud -
no merit found in 
	the string of syllables.
Nothing but pity
and waste in the clink
	of empty wine bottles.
Drinking alone
again...  first sign
	of voluntary madness?
Or last sign -
resignation - to
	perpetual sadness?
Jokes are cruel
as kids on playgrounds -
	making fear your master.
Your kith confessed,
this blue-eyed girl's a
	jolly fun disaster.
Cause or concern
wasn't really sworn
	or swallowed, until I knew.
You weren't ever
reaching or loving or smiling -
	oh no, you were laughing too.