dirty tears.

i know my questions
are not always welcome,
but you will not feel right,
until you let me in.

at every touch
i feel you turn away.
you have no questions
for me.
my eyes can tell you
what the back of your head
looks like,
i can tell you the feel
of your hand pulling away.

but i cannot let you know
the colour of your eyes,
i have not seen them
long enough.

who stole the truth
from your life?
your tears dried up
too young, too early.

i can tell you that
the crease in your hand
and the scar on your hip,
they are perfect,
but you will close
your eyes and turn away.

who stole your life?
you are only waiting
to be used.

stamp that.

stamp out that light
the one left by your burning ashes
dust on the wheel,
my head is slowly being
screwed in with a corkscrew.

"Ow", to say the least.

not even good old sigur ros
can help you cope at this point.
no faith is lost
where there never was any.

but what can you hold on to,
except your fleeting hope
in tomorrow?
maybe the sun will once again be brighter,
the ocean may not be so deep.

but in the meantime,
stamp out the light
of your fire.
the one that burnt
the forest down.

the ocean may never
be deep enough.