When we both are in our splintered state of mind I will glue fragments of our minds into a Ceramic vessel Perfected by the patchwork, We'll be a chaotic disarray of Terra cotta and melancholic thoughts. Something so whimsical, Only we could fathom it's substance.
Fatal flick of my index finger It's too dark to investigate Ambition creeping out of my nose Lungs filling with paranoia I'm left in the dark Where am I this time Whose head is on my shoulders That's not my heart beating in my chest And I Am Not Me.
d r u m m e r he's alive and i don't know what to do he's trying to beat life out of me using percussion to give me a concussion tuning me like a timpani and striking me like a snare dying in a rhythm improvised in a split second the mallets drew blood from somewhere i cant understand and i cant see anymore where am i am i dead yet
where will you find yourself when the moon asks you to take a rest when bats flicker around you hair and tug at your braids you'll remain outcasted from the faucets and radios outlining the nameless avenues you can't bring yourself to call home. as the rotation restarts where are you going to be
what was left of me is now a melancholic ornament suspended by my erroneousness swaying in gusts of my breaths what you ended has begun again tristfully i know why. -e.d