it was my camera that took
the picture of you with his
manly curves molding
your arm, and
my hand that shot you both
with the flicker of a lens
i was in that picture, too,
beyond the three dimensions
compressed into a 4x5 glossy
flypaper fantasy. you never asked
me to create it for you, but i heard
someone asking me- it was a
voice i'd never heard before, but
when i heard him whispering to
you as i stood behind my tiny
wall of negatives, i remembered
who.
you couldnt stop your voice from
wavering as you told me how
the photograph gravitated
to your hand, and how you
tore it in half, and almost
burned it- you couldnt find
any matches
then you collapsed into
your phone and i cradled
the sound of your aching
words, feeling a pain in
some unidentifiable place
when i realized that you
had ripped me.














Comments
xD I like that part.
--
as if something was broken in the world,
and we were supposed to put our palms against the wound.
And I will. (Thank you for the +)
--
as if something was broken in the world,
and we were supposed to put our palms against the wound.
--
Me(E): you are a dreamcrusher, Alex. A brilliant one, but a dreamcrusher.
A: haha
E: you are, sir. I should go dig up Langston Hughes and tell him that.
A: you should
E: "What happens to a dream deferred?" "It gets stomped on by Alex."
What happened to your head?
--
Me(E): you are a dreamcrusher, Alex. A brilliant one, but a dreamcrusher.
A: haha
E: you are, sir. I should go dig up Langston Hughes and tell him that.
A: you should
E: "What happens to a dream deferred?" "It gets stomped on by Alex."
But it is.
Better now?
--
Me(E): you are a dreamcrusher, Alex. A brilliant one, but a dreamcrusher.
A: haha
E: you are, sir. I should go dig up Langston Hughes and tell him that.
A: you should
E: "What happens to a dream deferred?" "It gets stomped on by Alex."
Aha.
...and that's a long time.
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