Ramblings of a Psychopath

Under the duvet
drinking Spring water
watching the rain
the gray
Imagining you call my name.

She writes on napkins
Spells out her dreams
They are just dreams.
All the instruments
that play in her head.
Yellow train up the mountain
Switzerland dreams.
Little rocks, small little rocks
from long ago.

She stopped imagining.
It is all 9 to 5 now.
Late nights and cuba libres left behind.
The search is gone.
Her hope is in what used to be,
which "will use to be" forever.
They used to be
and it is a picture frame forever
in space
in the space of her heart.

Falling down from the stars
pieces of her memoirs.
Going down San Diego's ocean.
Sinking in her heart.
Sinking her heart.