tell me how i can not be moved by this. tell me why i ever left.
i cant love, i cant be stone. you're particularly striking, not your jaws
not your easy eyes, but that sweater youve worn out and the pen you dribble in your mouth. i want to suck it off. i want
to rip it from your lips and see you bleed, such dark red that would enable this dream to be not such.
the skys fading, quick, quick, i pray my duracells are lit up, i pray god's eyes are too.
its gone and its still. where it hums, it now just lulls. just voids, just vacuums without debris.
i start to forget the third day of a weekend, when youre out sick on pneumonia or which ever lie your brother concocted.
you live within rabbit homocide dreams and bins of screener dvds.
tell me how i am to be unmoved.
by the silence, by the color, by the light you force upon my eyes and the rain that drool on my skin.
i havnt found a way to love. not yet, but i am no stone.
tell me how i'm not to be moved, and i will give you the answers to tomorrows crossword puzzle.
when the sky is this color, i break mad dash for the door.
when gods feet touch this fine earth it was once, presently, we shall be ash. and god will be a scream
and this color will never exist outside of the slant of sunray and this soft spot of anvil. we are so heavy.
heavy with rain and pain and guilt and boredom until we cant any more. like a child not yet learned to potty train.
like all the birthday cards i threw away.