Tight embraces in dimly lit buses,
night skies oppressive in the dormant freedom
of brightly glowing stars,
and through it all my mind shatters,
crystal upon stark tile floors;
go ahead, try to sweep it up.
We all know you'll find pieces
hidden in corners forevermore.
Reserve me, conserve me,
trap me in conversations that are real
in their own plasticky way.
Convention, protection,
radioactive never-ending hunger,
all is fearless until the time for courage arrives,
and then you are still,
trapped inside your own tobacco stained mouth,
empty and aching with only a
theoretical formula for satisfaction.
Satiate my needs (as I covet yours)
and enter my mind
through gaps in my body,
my hands are dry, my fingertips numb,
the taste of them salty upon the cracks in my lips.
Retract, retrospect,
retro clothing and high heeled leather boots,
walk the night through a fog of shame
and search out a gleam of hope,
but wait-
that's just light pollution.
The ground is dry but the sky is crying,
where in space lies the disconnect?
I'm spinning, I'm screaming,
I'm waiting for an end
but every day begins anew,
the sky grotesque in its airiness
and empty fullness
and the moon waiting only long enough
to greet the sun,
bowing its silvery crowned head.
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 5:05 PM UTC
Tight embraces in dimly lit buses,
night skies oppressive in the dormant freedom
of brightly glowing stars,
and through it all my mind shatters,
crystal upon stark tile floors;
go ahead, try to sweep it up.
We all know you'll find pieces
hidden in corners forevermore.
Reserve me, conserve me,
trap me in conversations that are real
in their own plasticky way.
Convention, protection,
radioactive never-ending hunger,
all is fearless until the time for courage arrives,
and then you are still,
trapped inside your own tobacco stained mouth,
empty and aching with only a
theoretical formula for satisfaction.
Satiate my needs (as I covet yours)
and enter my mind
through gaps in my body,
my hands are dry, my fingertips numb,
the taste of them salty upon the cracks in my lips.
Retract, retrospect,
retro clothing and high heeled leather boots,
walk the night through a fog of shame
and search out a gleam of hope,
but wait-
that's just light pollution.
The ground is dry but the sky is crying,
where in space lies the disconnect?
I'm spinning, I'm screaming,
I'm waiting for an end
but every day begins anew,
the sky grotesque in its airiness
and empty fullness
and the moon waiting only long enough
to greet the sun,
bowing its silvery crowned head.