It cuts through the room with knife in hand across the skin, it cuts
passes quick to bring myself out of the reference frame to cut the room with knife in hand across the skin, it cuts
so I lie inside its comforting ray of moonlight onto me but it passes quick to bring myself into the reference frame to cut the room with knife in hand across the skin, it cuts
when tranquility passes by time to go and shower my dirty skin with knife in hand across the skin, it cuts
in my head sits a house with a yard I've studied every detail of the windows and the embroidery on the door
inside I know the layout of every bookcase and how the sunlight garnishes the tile on the floor and even which hook to hang my coat upon I know the best way to slide my dirty boots at the door and I know every cupboard's dish that you had in place for I've been here many times before
but still I do not know the address of my home or the color that paints the trim by the gutter or even the shape of the driveway to the house with a yard.
our entire life we chase pieces of paper from test scores and homework answers to the final diploma and a walk on a stage and ticket stubs or programs to say “I'm lucky to have saw it first and before you,” we chase words to give life to our resume until all we are chasing is the final bow and we're awarded our final slip of paper saying “you lived a life,” and as we're lowered as if a curtain call there's the subtle whisper “she's lucky to have saw it first, and before us.”
When you are dead and buried no one will know the mountains you have climbed they will not know the passes that you took or the ridge lines you backed out of.
When you are dead and buried they will never know what got you over the mountain no one will even know how many times you fell or how much it took to struggle to your knees.
When you are dead and buried no one will know what brought you to that mountain they will not know what got you through that pass or what got you around that ridge line.
When you are dead and buried you'll be lucky if they know your name the day that you were brought into this world and the day you left it.
So sit now, and rest a while, write it all down, every peak and every mountain, leave it on the page for yourself or others, leave it on the map as pins or red lines.
So go now, and go forth, climb every peak and every mountain, leave a mark on your eyes or brain, leave a mark on yourself or others.
you tell me off for what you see is wrong that i'm malaligned or something worse maybe even a screw is lose in my tongue that'd explain why i talk a lot in verse
you think that i think i'm smart or a know-it-all of sorts that i'm a dropped piece of china or something worse maybe even a brain with too many things plugged in its ports that'd explain the overload of information that i rehearse
i think that you think that i trust you that'd explain your thoughts in reverse maybe even that i tell you all that is true but maybe i don't or something worse
i do not feel emotion as good or bad, most are instead waves of color passing by, like a burst of lighting casting near my pad, it is just another thing that comes and goes.
it pass by like words thrown into the wind, some stick onto my ears just the same, like super-glue or paint deep on my hand, it is just another thing that comes and goes.
i see no reason to worry, it passes by like time, and i have nothing left to not wait for, like I'm stuck in a cell serving the deal of my crime, it is just another thing that comes and goes.
i want to be seen, but not in the light.
i want to be heard, but only underwater.
i want to be touched, but only between glass.
i want to love you, but not be loved.
Son, the night shifts here are long, and many of your clients are already afraid of you, but some are already distant from life itself, and those are the easy jobs, they'll blindly follow.
If you choose this line of work, you best know that the pay ain't no good, you do it for the job title on the resume, and sometimes the deals under the table.
If you think it sounds good, then by all means, pick up the pen, or the scythe, or the gavel, and sign your name to seal your fate.
is it anger that I feel? from my belief that you, you of all people, have the power, the power to heal, to heal me and my scars?
or, have I only ever felt resignation to you, you and to my situation?
Summer is here with softer winds and warmer days,
almost as-if to say “you survived the darker and cooler nights.”