Monuments By Her Forgotten Stone.

Speaking to the brick.

Until Jordan is long forgotten...
And the scars die slowly, dirtied and infected.
I have three solemn words that lie within...
But now, youth-draped skin has cloaked them over.

My heart.

A shriveled sponge now creeping with flies...
She eats herself away with the beats of my ashes.
For my childhood is now dead to me.
A reverie, drowned in blue tears and sorrow...
Where no blood flows.

Jordan's heart is mine to borrow.
But the borrower never gains his own.
Now I have nothing but three words, uncloaked in shade.
But I'm too weary to say..."I love you."
Too dreary to say..."I need you."
And utter breathless whimpers of "I am nothing."

So here I lay, speaking to the brick.
Because it's much, much harder than myself.
So here I remain...lying to the brick.
Because the truth lies absent in everyone else.

Until this time to be remembered...
From showering April to bitter Decembers,
There is a call I am awaiting...
Too quiet to hear in the deadhouse walls,

And speaking to the brick.