Deadbeat Clouds

Maybe, I should write this down, before I go insane, so you all have something to remember me bye. 

Because I don't sleep.
And when I do I dream
But only long enough to mix up the color of your eyes with my favorite flower.
Roses.
Or to swing on Christmas lights into your arms that fade into ashes of words once spoken.

And When I read you, I think of myself, but maybe because I think green eyes are rare, and maybe because I think I'm something special, or maybe I'm just standing on a cliff above the world seeing it all and wondering if I should lean my car a little closer to the median strip.

Stop.
Don't do that, we've talked about this.

You're right, maybe this wall against my back is too close for comfort.

And maybe there's something about days that start with the letter T that cause clouds to stumble into happy hour and leave with perfume on their collars.
Sleeping by the telephone pole to escape the repetition of sins that you've committed.

I'm sorry did I say you? I meant they.

It's funny how living in a house with no reason to talk, causes those Freudian slips.

But please, promise me I won't be another generic love song, or a fallen rose in your camera lens.
Because we always circle back to track three

How cliché of us...

And it's rough against my cheek but I've always craved a little injury in what I love most.

But maybe these blue diamonds on your windshield are the evidence I need to know that it's over.
The clouds never came home.
Their loved ones cried because the roads absorbed them and they never went back up into the sky to kiss their kids goodbye.
And maybe we're sick to be so in love at the silence of rain drops from mourning clouds, falling from the heavens.