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 Now online (2)DADONCK belb ...and 240 guests Last 5 registered Oplandisks nothingstar N_loop yipe foxtrotromeo Browse members... |
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Our voices are hidden mostly. Someone said I fell out of the wrong tree. They say I landed in between shit and gold, And how many of us want our own digging hole? If only it was simple, you say. Paint by numbers, an un-deferred walk in the park, The marbles unwinding from your hands like jelly. It will be that simple when you throw your cards down. For some of us, though, we don’t know we hold the cards in the first place. You wore the raincoat that was so sacred to you, One new patch every time your heart was broken. I couldn’t help but notice how closed in you’d become, I’d surely buy you a new jacket, If you didn’t think that one was fitting so well. We always talked with vases in our throats, She was the friend who spent most of her time crying, Not crying for any particuliar reason, If only to know she had become increasingly more vulnerable. And this didn’t keep her from sleep. Like her patches, she was part of some bigger cause, One that had left her a martyr to scouring sewers, Looking for the most desheveled pieces of life, “That way,” she said, “I understand I’m not so broken”. She was never broken, I thought, only marred by her misfortune. I passed her a final time, I hated to see her cause drowned, In the same sewers that were like penniless dream shows, That sat next door to the circus with the miserable clowns. She told me she was leaving for the circus tomorrow, For her dreams were now only shattered black and white photographs. Maybe I’m her dream, or maybe I’m the help she can’t reach in her nightmares. -ross |
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