My breath is coming back to me
Slowly, my lungs are ballooning
And when I walk past shuttering doors
Their brass handles jarring
The murmurs trickle deep within this
Old, motel carpet, green spirals
And my feet under me creak the wood
Making me sound like some cheap giant
The floor reaching out in painful movement
I’m guilt before you, in shame I hang my hat
My clothes fall off in bundles about me
Hiding my feet, such god-forsaken
Bending bones under stretched worn skin
And it feels so, normal although
The purpose for all this is too unclear
Palming away a dusty foreground leaves
Only a more smeared view and I’m for once
Choking on something that isn’t there and
As sequential as the night can be
Aghast I stand at the bitterness of it
Of pretty girls and their dresses flaring
As they escape out of a bedside window
Leaving drips of blood on the shards of broken glass
A lust in my eyes has gotten the best of my hands
The void in avoidance makes for a tangled web
Of whisky drinking-contradictions like me
And I’ll make up their last names
As I fill in the gaps in the shadows of night
Waiting for a cue from a thundercloud
Because only a climatic ending will do

01/30/2011

Posted on 01/31/2011
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