I imagine myself a blind artist
Painting what I imagine the world to look like
But I can only paint what I know
Because I see the colors on the page
And it's familiar
Is this a curse?
To have my eyes open,
And a brush in my hand?

A book full of dog-eared pages
Bent and browned
Oily from skimming fingers
Dusty and musky
Words to be inhaled
Images projected behind your eyelids
When you close the book
And sigh
And close your eyes

My position is distant
My path discursive
My equality punctured
Set back, tortured
My corpse is painted
My rainbow is tainted
My bones are contracting
My skin is cracking

A knowledge abductions
Formed with childish seduction
Leaving me
Foam on the Dead Sea
Holding back
The tears of the seldom heard
Holding back
The worst kind of words

I'm heliotropic
Turning, turning, turning
My soporific voice
Is dying, dying, dying
Like a suicide survivor
Submerging ever higher
Schizophrenic priestess
Nepotistic phantom
     I'm sand

Something special twice
A lucky roll in my favor
With hope's eternal dice
Something special twice

Pitter patter of tiny feet
Running up and down the street
Sounds of laughter, sounds of screams
Will come haunt me in my dreams
The children meet in stocking feet
Their night clothes blow across concrete
They join hands and sing a song
In all our hearts we sing along
They drop hands and turn around
And scatter back throughout the town
In their homes they go to sleep
And pray The Lord their soul to keep

Angels swirl across the skies
Echoing their sweet goodbyes

Out of mind, out of sight
Reaching out for my light
Reaching out with your hand
All you touch turns to sand
And as you fall, as you weep
The sand it something you still keep
All the fragments of your dreams,
Have evolved to separate things
Intertwined in your sight,
Are all the problems you still fight

If you want to reach my hand,
First you have to drop the sand

Never, ever, nevermind
Something that I left behind
One thing for a rainy day
One word that I meant to say
The word that would change my mind
The thought that I fight to find

The thing, one thing, something there
The thing I would like to wear
Like my flesh it hangs on me
It and I were meant to be
But it hardly can be found
It's just an echo of the sound