I'd just like to meet someone.
there was a girl I knew who would follow me,
as we followed our souls,
into the deepest parts of wherever we were,
when we were merely 4 years old.
I miss her organic smile.
I imagine her in the roots of trees
giving birth the the air I breathe
simultaneously whispering into my ear
telling me it's alright
that I've got blood dripping
from the sharp teeth in my mouth
as I wander into the depths
in search of the biggest of meals
on all fours.
I understand, further now
why the lone wolf howls up into the moon
despite his dissonance
from his pack.
I am dead
I will always be dead
and anyone who wishes to love me
will die as well.
therefore
I see it only logical
that I have
no hope
for a wife.
nor a life.
only a memory I may be
some great amount of years
after my death,
just like all the rest
who chose to live,
in the breath of something
too large to ever be filled.
some, thing
which had already been killed.
some, thing
never capable of being spilled.
someone, of which
all dreams are revealed.
never sealed.
I'd just like to meet
someone real.
isn't it funny look so much like capillaries?
hey Lindell, how the tops of trees
isn't it funny look so much like capillaries.
