you come to me
(and not to me)
with expressive hands and obvious holes
where you've been riddled with emotional bullets
...by him

you love him, of this i know
(i am oh, so aware)
otherwise
you would not subject yourself
over and over
and yet over again

time after time
you seek out my comfort
ignorant to the echoing beats of my heart
when you walk in the room

i lend a proverbial shoulder
(and sometimes a literal one)
i listen with ears made of gold
by placing snowflakes in my eyes
i feign nuetrality

your hand is a white wounded bird
in my palm
that i feel i must nurture
and when you cry
(i cry inside)
i hand you a tissue
it soaks up the tears caused
...by him
as you lend me a weak smile

what you don't see
(besides my face written love)
is that after you leave (me)
i place the tissue in my pocket
close to my heart
it weighs heavy on me
but its nothing
compared to the desire for you
i carry inside

i'll take this
because it's all i can seem to get from you

i'll take it

i'll take it

i'll

take

it

then cry myself to sleep
and with your tears in my pocket
(and mine on my pillow)

i dream

i miss

i

long...