Gray flutters and glides up
like distance smoke pipes
I see the world spin.

Promises made and promise gone,
and those who set the rules
remind me of being a child.
Yet we are the same as a babe,
and nothing can remind you
with the codes handed down.

The metal feels cold against
and my arm feels like pins and needles
as if I was carelessly laying on it.
I try to blink but the flecks
of the past flicker for a moment,
and it's gone like that.

Crystal salt licks burn in my eyes,
and I'm to weak to wipe the acid
in the corner of my eye.

The lead in my head doesn't feel
like a forest fire in my head,
and my thoughts seem drowsy
as it makes my eyelids close.

The crimson and salt water doesn't
burn anymore in my eyes,
and the oil slick stain seems to
soak the carpet a red color.

All I can think of is smoke stacks
and promises that were never made
or spent.

07/16/2008

Posted on 07/16/2008
Copyright © 2025 Christopher Shin