A.M.

A.M.
by me(whatever)
to: David Cook- Touch 'n Go

dog-eared pages,
12:26 A.M.
a moon that is a sliver,
cat in the window.

a small murmur of rain,
Russian nesting dolls
1:02 A.M.
flying machines on the shelf.

2:15 A.M.
distant wind-chimes
unable to breathe.
a four-leaf-clover in a diary.

darkened painting
a lingering scent of plum blossoms.
I think of you
3:27 A.M.

Closed in

Closed in
by me(whatever)
to: Miku- Matoi

where to begin in this story?
where you have been pretending
to be the narrator of
ever since you were small.

The world is round,
and I think about you in circles,
running across the grassy edges in bare feet
in a slightly lonely merry-go-round.

holding an apple to the cloudy sky,
I peer out of the dream for a splash of blue.
My own ocean in the midst of this desert,
waiting for your return.

Not many of the things you feel
are you able to put into words,
so you spend time growing a forest of apple trees
that are only distantly attached to reality.

Whilst I wait for you,
I think I'll write plenty of poetry.
send them to an address that doesn't exist,
and place a sigh into the envelope.

Unable to go anywhere,
yet the future changes the familiar paths.
Ribbons, strings, and threads,
connecting me to people, places, and the sparse pieces of you.

Surely within the image, if I can continue,
a conclusion to this fear can be reached.
unable to understand even the normal things,
you take my hand and open the window for me;
spring is here.

Windy Day, Saturday

Windy Day, Saturday
by me(whatever)
to: hinekureneji to ame- cover by Justin Ly + ATEL

ascending the steps to a house in the sky,
passing the rose garden and the ivy-climbed bird bath
peering up from under the whistling willow tree
watching the clouds flow by,
a place you've lived by yourself
ever since you were young.

the world spins and turns underneath you,
and you've stayed the same here,
hearing the gears click together in quiet symphony
it's a Saturday, and the Zeppelin
floats by,
addressing itself to you.

the butterfly pauses around the cluster of lilacs,
the crow jumps out of the bushes,
sipping your hot chocolate while eating the words
of the freshly delivered newspaper.
You might have a few regrets,
but we must learn how to live.

Pieces

Pieces
by me(whatever)
to: The Fray- How to Save a Life

piecing together
a jigsaw from the bin
bits and fragments without a name,
not even a word-
as though its invisible
    not invisible enough.

tying together
a voiceless discussion
books flipped to the missing page,
not even a number-
as though its painful
    not painful enough.

holding together
a cup you used to drink from
coins dropped in the flower vase
not even a thought-
as though it's lost
    not lost enough.