She measures self worth in numbers -
Numbers like the seven he gave her last night,
Scribbled on a coffee shop napkin.
She's like a butterfly, you see;
Wondrous on the outside
But blank within
Fluid, without shape or body or mind -
No spine.
She is whatever words are thrown her way.
She is numbers,
A simple code, a formula,
To which the answer will always be
"I'll see you at eight," or
"Call me," or sometimes just "Yes."
Easy.
She's shapeless conformity,
And when she wakes up someplace new,
She counts the numbers down:
Five, Four, Three, Two -
One time she had her own edges,
But that's neither here nor there, really.
Yesterday, she was seven digits,
But today, for now,
She's zero.

Time speaks to all things,
And beneath quiet clouds,
I am diffusing

the voices of the sea
the whisper of the symphony
are calling out your name
and you just turn your head in shame

your hopeless hands are tied
and everything you love has died
you've thrown away your pride
and giving up now, means you never tried

you're still pulling out the arrows
of your former atrophies and perils
fulfilling this discordance
with your future purpose and importance
pulling out the arrows.
pulling out the arrows.
pulling out the arrows.

Reaching for the Surface
but you're on the ocean floor.
Praying for a Purpose,
hoping for an open door.
Scratching at the Surface,
but it's harder than it was before.
But what's the Purpose?
what are you praying for?

and you say
God, please don't let me die.
but you're
Reaching for an Empty Sky.

No one else is there
to hold you're hand and say they care
No one else will come
so give it up, you're on your own.

the forces of the sea
have trapped you in this tragedy
your belief in all their lies
has done no good, open your eyes

see the world as it is
your existence within this nothingness
as worthless as the sea
another useless commodity

you're still bracing for the arrows
of your distant atrophies and perils
fulfilling this whole prophecy
by decoding all their sophistry
bracing for the arrows
bracing for the arrows
bracing for the arrows

Reaching for the Surface
but you're on the ocean floor.
Praying for a Purpose,
hoping for an open door.
Scratching at the Surface,
but it's harder than it was before.
But what's the Purpose?
what are you praying for?

and you say
God, please don't let me die.
but you're
Reaching for an Empty Sky.

there are ashes in my mouth

the residue of flaming words

that scorch the silk savannah of my mind

they drain the blood from my skin

as if my wrists have been opened

bleeding onto the pages before me

a great ******* of half-formed consciousness

these words, these flaming, fiery words

erupt in rapid torrents

of strange improbable happenings

their clatter grows louder, they yell

now I understand the nature of my curse

it  is to look for something I have forgotten

a beautiful yet tragic gentleness

like the femininity of my hands

that calls to me from across

the infinite blackness of space

there are ashes in my mouth

99 cent wars, rooftops, Gibraltar Screaming "god bless the fabulous" Christs;

In the eyes of years
Man is king only over that which breathes,
So let's throw hugs in the air,
sit on flowers and vanish to Cook stones on the hips of Cleopatra
with all of December's left footed children

For through the cried ***** tears of furry German banana caskets,
Eternity awaits
In the failures of our greatest triumphs,

So let's dance

After all, Psychological Wednesday societies
Are only good for curing Xbox manifestos and Tuesday sanities

And if we died one day,
it sure won't be yesterday.