Porphyria’s Other

Porphyria’s Other video performance

I close my eyes

And trace the shape of your curls

In the air with my finger

And I hear you asking me

To give you an answer I don’t have and never will

I won’t lie to you

 

I close my eyes

And trace the shape of your curls

In the air with my finger

As you turn your back

And walk away apparently unaware of what has passed

Or the damage done

 

I close my eyes

And trace the shape of your curls

In the air with my finger

Weighing the consequences

With scant regard or thought into how they might impact

In the blink of an eye

 

I close my eyes

And trace the shape of your curls

In the air with my finger

I can still feel them

After all the time that has passed brushing

Through my fingertips

Over your face

 

I close my eyes

And trace the shape of your curls

In the air with my finger

And I snatch it away

As if the memories are burning

Out of control

Like the anger and pain in your eyes

 

I close my eyes

And trace the shape of your curls

In the air with my finger

As I try to recall

When it all began to breakdown

And crumble away

Like old bricks and mortar

 

I close my eyes

And trace the shape of your curls

In the air with my finger

And trace the shape of your curls

In the air and wonder if I’m still tracing them

And if the pain and anger still

Sits in your eyes

 

I close my eyes

And trace the shape of your curls

In the air with my finger

A pang of regretful hurt

That the words I said

You weren’t ready for, yet

 

I close my eyes

And trace the shape of your curls

In the air with my finger

And like the flick of a switch

It was all change, again

No symptoms or warning signs

A broken filament

 

I close my eyes

And trace the shape of your curls

In the air with my finger

And the realisation

That it wasn’t the words

I said I regret

But those I never got round to saying

 

I close my eyes

And trace the shape of your curls

In the air with my finger

The silence slowly suffocating

Your voice saying my name

And the sweet scent of parma violets

Sinking into distant memory

 

I close my eyes

I close my eyes

And trace, and trace the shape

Of something that was

Or wasn’t

I close my eyes

And walk away

 

 

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