The liquor spilled
the lacquer peeled

and you watched
your life vanish before your eyes
you watched everything fade away
and dissipate
as it slowly flowed
and devoured all of your time
and answers

I was lost
and wearing your makeup
i was walking
pacing circles inside your room
looking for a way out
but, luckily
it didn't come

you opened the door, wide
and you walked inside
smoking a cigarette
loudly
and filled the entire room with 1950's smoke
from the french new wave

we laughed
and cuddled
and coddled our insecurities
until you just couldn't take it anymore
until you had to escape

so you did
in a cab
for want of a trunk

i followed

the country flew by and by
grayscale,greens and reds
and the grayscale, brown of the fence line
that raced along side the dirt roads
that carved away from town
surely,
your heart would have changed
surely,
your mind would have changed your heart
in the backseat
from the open window
blowing hair and smoke from the cigarettes,
endless in your fingertips

where we ended was not of importance
where we headed meant nothing
all the reader needs to understand
is what you looked like

crawling from the wreck
in a grayscale, yellow dress
again, from the 1950's french new wave
your blond hair
blowing in the open country air
lashing at your cheeks
over and over and over

the taxi stopped
and i scooped up my camera
from the lens i watched you drop to your knees
and look back over your shoulder
at the open trunk
while death
tightened its irreparable grip
on your heart

and your fingers, still smoking
(click, click, click)
face down in the grayscale, brown mud
from the 1950's french new wave