There are stories I steal from your memories,
and some from the stars.
I steal them from the hole of your favorite jacket,
from the oozing blood of your heart
from the shadow of the street light and from darkness
from the guns and morality that you shove in my face
(I vomit them, you know, they taste too bad!)
From the words shining under the study lamp at 3,
From your life and mine, and theirs and everyone’s!!!
I steal and still they are mine.
I steal from the noise and the silence,
And make a song out of it..!!
I steal stories from the darkening hues of the burning flames,
From the growing darkness at the end of the road,
From the dripping droplets of the tip of your hair,
When we were dancing in the rain..!
I steal stories from the ice crystals collected from the rainbow,
The walk in the sky,
The colorful box on my black bound books,
They sing to me,
These stories, all mine.
I steal stories, I steal,
From the obscurity of your words,
From the warmth,
Of the kiss, the hug, the everything of you!
From your absence
From the patterns that your hands make,
against the orange bed sheet.
I steal and they are all mine,
Just like you!
I steal from your tender taken breath,
From your shining tears in the shower
From the joy in your fake smiles,
From the betraying truth behind your stammering words,
But mostly,
From the blanks that complete our story!
The winters that put us together again,
Broken, puked leftovers of the heart…
From the red blood inside me, that I must show to be blue,
From the shams and scandal that break inside my mind,
From the posters on my wall,
And those I’d imagined on yours,
The painting on that book cover,
The unmade calls, the deleted messages…
I steal stories from your breath, to steal you
It is the spark I infuse them with,
And you come to life in this robbery.
