So why, I shall ask, my friend
Why would I spend a life on the toes
Leaving my heels at the mercies of fight and flight
Keeping my scenery a blind; to hide some imperfection
Grasping this seclusion, a dusk under the bed frame.
I relish at my heels meeting cold concrete
Washing my oiled skin with airy rays
Dancing dew-dripped mornings to recall.
For your deep-rooted panic attracts the sickest of sin
Boasting Velcro scabs beneath your bones
You remain as open as a closed door.
As dead as the dreams you have replaced with
Pretty, pretty lies.

05/31/2008

Posted on 05/31/2008
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