The lines on my palm = The threads of a web
The footsteps I leave behind = The make-up on a B-grade movie's C-grade heroine
The pillow on my bed = The absence of your presence
The cello-taped routine = container of my chaotic life
The book lying by me = The world I escaped to last night
The phone-call I never made= The moment I want but can't realize
The posts that come out so often= The typed word that my thoughts so easily garb
The anklet I suddenly feel like wearing = The rhythm I want to bring back to your life
The blue that tints my toe nails = The hue that keeps me from you
The seconds I hear ticking = The dripping tears I can feel no more
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