What's With The Shoes?

One step.

One moment.

One heartbeat at a time.

War Paint


Forever just a memory just a memory just a memory, my friend. She's not ordinary. *She's just like me*. Woke up (I woke up again) this morning with the blank mirror facing me. 
Notice read: Blank mirror for blank expressionless customers only. 
No lipstick. No trace of fogged up finger-painting. She and I are one and the same. Did anyone catch what time it was when it started? My nostrils still carry whispers and memories. 
Whispers. Those curious corners of her lips. Vapors soon to disappear until the next night. 
They asked for a map.
Help us *understand*.
Forever just a memory, my friend. Stay here.
I'll stay here, sifting my remains through the ashes. Building a sandcastle with the dust I came from, and to which I'll sift through the hourglass back into.
Every time. 
This time the reflection showed the story. Sweet dreams. Trace the contours of your chest. Find the longitudinal reminder. Reach your hand inside before they awake. We're not open for business until later, much much later today. Reach in between beats.
The warmth is intoxicating. They never mentioned the percussionist for the sirens song. 
It's welcome here.
Reach in. Feel.
There it is. 
Your smile stretches across the room.
There it is.
Hands on.
Feel it.
The sand keeps sifting slipping through.
Time's almost up tonight.
You can't stay.
Forever just a memory, my friend.
As you slowly find your hand releasing.
Pulling back.
Blank mirror.

You slowly drag your fingers, together, across your forehead. 
One finger under each eye. 
War paint.
Blood red.
Glowing brighter.

Let today do what it may.
We'll wear our love on our face.