Baby, stop crying.

A Poem by dukovan

Its all my fault anyways.

I am the bar stool he's taken.
Subtle minds pause alike.
Doesn't matter much, the context,
so long as your suspended in his sight.

I'm hung up on the hook,
I kept you warm all night.
Now the furniture is vibrating,
as he looks down at your lips.

My good ear is sewn into the carpet.
The other hears too much.
I swallow suggestions and purge reason.
The bourbon was a good one.

Filtered frames in sunburst hues remind
your younger self to speak.
You've always upset me and I know its my fault.
You were born an interior decorator.
I decided to get out.

The difference I once needed,
is laughing on my cheek.
I'm losing my sense of humor,
while the others grow more acute
and I smell my own filth.

I am the floorboards,
commenting on your every move.
I see a picture framed in fumes,
and one in which you forced a smile.
I feel as though,
I should let you know,
maybe because I never do.

© 2012 dukovan

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Reviews

Shimmerbliss/CAF

This one is making me feel like someone forgotten, unnoticed, there for the other person's audience or use. The feeling of it all being the writer's fault show up throughout, and yet I sense it is perhaps just easier to feel that way than to see the other's part. I may be way off as usual, but I am intrigued by the lines:
"I am the bar stool he's taken."
"so long as your suspended in his sight."
"as he looks down at your lips."

I am not sure, of course, but seems to me that jealousy or flirting comes to play in this one...as if the blame is circling in the air and you just take it on. Hope I haven't flunked on what you meant. I do love the feeling I get from your work, and my own life and memories color it up like a coloring book.