Pictures of Nothing
(Jeff Woodell)
Remember the day that we met in the park
where the sunlight and shadow entwined?
That picture looked perfect, more perfect than art,
but I wish, on that day, I'd been blind.
Remember the night that we lay in the stars
in a pose for each flash in the sky?
I told you I loved you. You said you did too,
but the best you could do was pretend it was true.
You know, I used to smile every time that my eyes
found the pictures of both of us framed on the wall,
but the way that you look at him makes me feel sick.
Now, they're pictures of nothing at all.
When I borrowed a lens, it was easy to see
we were hanging together by threads.
I asked you for glue to secure what was left,
but you gave me the scissors instead.
All of my friends claim to know how I feel
and they say I'll get better each day.
I know that they're right, but you're hard to erase
and each day is an hourglass floating in space.
You know, I used to smile every time that my eyes
found the pictures of both of us framed on the wall,
but the way that you look at him makes me feel sick.
Now, they're pictures of nothing at all.
