seven hours late

my last seven hours
falling off the clock 
scrapping down the wall
bidding farewell.
from blurred eyes gazing at a photo,
it too, tethered to madness fading,
slowly draining. 
all the lines and colors of you  
a blank white paper basin  
a last glance intoxicates
whatever moves me.

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if it's any comfort,
I might want to hug my odes to you,
with a broken cane,
recite my blunders,
stand on my crooked past,
reprimand crippled fingers that did the deed,
that caused you to be gone,
a fruitless remedy,
I can tell by the way I'm missing you.

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peel the skin off reminiscing words,
spilling on those dying days,
wandering streets, pacing time away. 
take this guilty in an assassination  
to my wandering breaths,
tempting something to adopt me.

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wanting to be wrapped in sheets  
of musical notes,
in tune with magnetic symphonies  
dedicated to this melancholy.  
show the love of god
I heard so much about it.  

but now I’m seven hours short  
that went searching for you in L.A.  
I’m seven hours late

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