What is it exactly that I need?

The same old
Sliding around is falling
Beautifully out of line.

I wonder if it eats
at you softly.
I'd love to know
When it begins to *burn away
At the fleshy substance
around the outside
of your brain.

We play wicked games
In the name of science
and discovery
In order to *once-twice-three
Times try the **** around game;
Hopeful to figure out
Each others true anatomy.

The opposite *** -
The fear of *** -
What a nightmare. . .

**Why is it that I need an answer?

We softly spoke
                              after the fact;
        The reasons
Were *limited.

What
          are we,

                       but
            dead
   and dying leaves.

                                                       Swimming back -
                                                       Yearning for the warmth again.
            Second year without the
                                                  Spring(s)
                                                                ­  In my heart.

Sister's turning. . .
T̶w̶e̶n̶t̶y̶,
More years ahead
Than
Behind; our bent hands

                                         Can write. . .
                                               Or scratch The
                                                                ­          tiniest .holes.
                                                         ­                 In our minds.
                            While m̶i̶s̶s̶i̶n̶g̶ a̶t̶o̶m̶s̶                                                 
     ­                                                             and stolen organs are
                                                                ­         Attempting to find that
                                                            ­             One perfect meaning
                                    That seems to be
                                                              ­           Right there.
                                                       ­                                           Off of the east coast,
                                                          ­   You know?
         Right out of reach.
                                   Beyond your misunderstanding and
                                        Way past the point of freezing.

But there is never
                        Any                                   turning                                      back.

We still   h
                   a
                     n
                        g
             On    by
                   a
             t
           w
           i
         g.

  Our last seed
Is                          out there,
      somewhere.

             You haven't lost it. . .
                                                   But,
The message is not what it means.

                                             I guess
                                                  That, that
                                                            ­is why

                                                            ­                                            We are
                                                             ­                                                        The dead
                                                          ­               and dying leaves.

I placed a bet earlier on
In the spirit of the spring that
I, or should I say, you
Would still be here - not moving
Staying as stale as a couch dorito.

And to think that
I placed this bounty on your head
While you sat still and slowly spun in reverse
Then raised the stakes
One hundred stacks.

To the last verse in the old King James;
You really made your mother proud.

You took the hammer and made two.
You stole the sunshine in hopes of a better view
Of your "holier" nightmares.
You made the one drop lock up so tight
That not a n'er not a sheep could slip through.
You wore that sweater that stole at least
One hundred hearts
Right out of the chests of the sunken treasure
That I fought so hard for,
But they were all for you.

I bet you never guessed that
You were always right when
You never guessed and I bet
You never guessed that
You should have guessed wrong
This time.

I was the one that dropped the screwdriver in your mind.
I never stopped to visit, I just didn't get the time.
I used to always cut the cactus off just a little too soon.
I remember I once left the moon in a hopeful wish that
I could go home too.

I guess I guessed a mess of a mess
Thus ends this insanity, thus ends this madness.

I shed a body or two off
Back when I was in the "Times."

The speckling of my sharpest bones
Was in order
and I still didn't want to go home.
I just wanted to shine.
I just wanted to live like ivory
and dance in the minty ice cream cone
That's melting down your left wrist.

While in the other hand there was this little slip
A piece of paper with a note
About how God can change your life and
Others lives if you can just pray right
and then pay the standing Black Jack off by the closed door.
Would you like anymore
Wisdom from an ******* of grass
Or the company of a church *****?

I want to shed roses out of the garden
and into my mind.
I just want to tell you that you're not mine
and you never will be and
I will never be happy again
Not like I was when
I had no hidden grin
Or when I had no scar on my chest from beating him
Or any manly hair on my chinny chin chin.

I've shined out and timed out of the server.
The service calls me so
I put a gun in my mouth
and sing them the anthem of their nations glow:

The anthem of a lunatic
Praying on a twelve gauge
To bring me back in again.

Bruised teeth and busted lips.

A black smudge down the right side
And your **** are looking back at me.
To make things a little bit harder,

I almost stopped to shudder and erase that last part but I can't now
For it has made its mark.

Trash can journey number six.
Are you in to this?