Inside of eyes, are thoughts.
Inside of lies, are knots.
Rub them out with hands tilted sideways,
and oil as dry as sand.
I'm boiling.
Boiling.
Boiling,
but not yet boiling over.
When will the surface burn my metal and let me spill myself.
I haven't layed my palms on poisons for weeks.
Myself,
Sober.
Sober.
Sober,
but not enough to call, and lay out my thoughts for your novel
of what you so call a life.
I'm not yet sane.
Through, and through I go. I threw you away,
But I haven't burnt you yet, you still lurk in my gut.
I wrote another person, and toyed with it.
Changed the story.
Tried and tried to untie a knot that was melted into itself.
Oh god, how I tried.
Playing with the same concept, person, for two months.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing,
but something is filled, unwillingly full of emptyness.
I laugh and try to act like I could love your soul, as I did his.
But this bird has a tail of lace and watery feathers, that just can't be caught.
Find some icey air and freeze me in my place..
Study me.
Feel me.
Look at me,
And melt me away.