It haunts me to think outside the stars.
To speak with those against, and, then again;
I'm against what you're against, and you're for what they're against.
Time spends.
It brings forth the fourth planet from Earth.
It enters my crooked spine, aligned with dirt and sands.
And when i open my mouth, it escapes.
Heiroglyphs, an ancient text,
And i expect that they will tell .
Unravel my DNA, and tell of each and every cell's tale, sell it for a penny, and craft a sail to sail away on the sea of Seychelles.
And i wait.
And wait.
And wait.
And I wait for a response from among the grains of sand littered along the banks of the sea.
Granules that barely breathe, and yet still they sing.
"In the days of one and three, the nights are empty, and the days are green."
And me?
Well, i wealthily breathe, often scream, and seldom sing.
I scream.
And i scream,
And i scream.
I scream at the sea for not speaking through its seam that is the beach.
And I scream at the sea for not bringing me what i think i think i need.
My skin breathes in the breeze, and the bones in my knees, they creak.
The stars are plucked from decaying string, and meet the timid sea.
The sea, she sings
"In the midst of one and three, you seek, but shall not reap. The meek, not the weak, shall breathe deep what your lungs weep."
And into my spine, the earth retreats.
She sinks her teeth, and she eats, and eats.
