‹ Prequel: 3 Cheers For Sweet Revenge
I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love
Cubicles
I remember that day you walked out of your cubicle and into my life. Like the sun after the rain, the smell of cut grass, the summer of never ending joys and smiles. And as I watch you pass me by, i hide my pretend project of affection of minced heart origami.
It's the tearing sound of love notes, casting out the gray stained windows. I wish you would read one word, but you won't. I sabotage my own creation, always looking out as they dance their way to the ground. The view outside is sterile, and I'm two cubes down from you. I can smell your sandal wood scent seducing my senes, oh you drive me wild.
I'll photocopy all the things that we could be, boyfriend and girlfriend, lovers, husband wife? Even friends? If only you'd clear your schedule for me, and took the time to notice me for once.
But duty calls, and you can't now, I don't blame you. It's not your fault that no one does. I'm just the quiet goofball clerk, and I know other guys with more meaningful things to say, not written, are talking to you like you were the last woman on earth and reproduction were a salvation to mankind.
But last week, it became sad again. I waited for you at the elevator, where we have our awkward moment of silence, with my mute words of restricted endearment and wooing. But you don't work here anymore, and that elevator ride up felt so down. Your cubicle, it's just a vacan 3 by 4. And they might fill your place, a temporary stand-in for your face. No one else will do, oh how I wish I had sent you the softest of words and sternest of hearts on paper to your desk amongst the files and trays. This happens all the time, and I can't help but think I'll die alone.
So now what? I'll spend my time with strangers, a condition that is terminal in this water-cooler romance of crumpled paper cups and TV dinner filled trashcans. And all of this is coming to a close.
We could be in a park, dancing by a tree, round and round we go in a lovers embrace as I lead you into my heart, and you follow with quick even steps. In the grass, kicking over blades we see as we recline in our self indulged rapture that is our love for one another.
Or a dark beach with a black view, as pin-pricks in the velvet catch fall. I hate flying solo on this flight through life, and I need you to keep me steady so I don't crash off course.
But reality bleeds back in, and our white wedding fades to an undertone ceremony of useless and listless searching and wanting. I know you don't work here anymore, sometimes I think I'll die alone, live and breathe and die alone. I think I'd love to die alone.
And as I step out of this clear glass broken heart office and into that ill hearted elevator, to descend back down to my sunken level of consciousness, you greet me with the opening doors to many a chambe and avenue(my heart). I'll step in slowly, and as I have loathed that awkward silent ride I was so accustomed to, today, I will break the silence with a delayed letter and a kiss.
It's the tearing sound of love notes, casting out the gray stained windows. I wish you would read one word, but you won't. I sabotage my own creation, always looking out as they dance their way to the ground. The view outside is sterile, and I'm two cubes down from you. I can smell your sandal wood scent seducing my senes, oh you drive me wild.
I'll photocopy all the things that we could be, boyfriend and girlfriend, lovers, husband wife? Even friends? If only you'd clear your schedule for me, and took the time to notice me for once.
But duty calls, and you can't now, I don't blame you. It's not your fault that no one does. I'm just the quiet goofball clerk, and I know other guys with more meaningful things to say, not written, are talking to you like you were the last woman on earth and reproduction were a salvation to mankind.
But last week, it became sad again. I waited for you at the elevator, where we have our awkward moment of silence, with my mute words of restricted endearment and wooing. But you don't work here anymore, and that elevator ride up felt so down. Your cubicle, it's just a vacan 3 by 4. And they might fill your place, a temporary stand-in for your face. No one else will do, oh how I wish I had sent you the softest of words and sternest of hearts on paper to your desk amongst the files and trays. This happens all the time, and I can't help but think I'll die alone.
So now what? I'll spend my time with strangers, a condition that is terminal in this water-cooler romance of crumpled paper cups and TV dinner filled trashcans. And all of this is coming to a close.
We could be in a park, dancing by a tree, round and round we go in a lovers embrace as I lead you into my heart, and you follow with quick even steps. In the grass, kicking over blades we see as we recline in our self indulged rapture that is our love for one another.
Or a dark beach with a black view, as pin-pricks in the velvet catch fall. I hate flying solo on this flight through life, and I need you to keep me steady so I don't crash off course.
But reality bleeds back in, and our white wedding fades to an undertone ceremony of useless and listless searching and wanting. I know you don't work here anymore, sometimes I think I'll die alone, live and breathe and die alone. I think I'd love to die alone.
And as I step out of this clear glass broken heart office and into that ill hearted elevator, to descend back down to my sunken level of consciousness, you greet me with the opening doors to many a chambe and avenue(my heart). I'll step in slowly, and as I have loathed that awkward silent ride I was so accustomed to, today, I will break the silence with a delayed letter and a kiss.