Sunday 8/13/2006 12:11:00 AM

There in the porcelain he slept. Waiting for the mold. Hands to the lullaby tremoring. With the words we'd waited on. Since we began.

We have lived So now what will we do.

We have stolen feathers from the antlers of the hawk. As in flight we let it see our awe. Gaping mouths waiting for the piss.

I asked myself what I wanted. Soft fingers relenting their grip. I just sat there wishing I could be anyone else. Anyone who was never me.

I don't suppose there's any kind way to say that I can't. Won't remember anymore. Whatever it was that changed the coax of the grey. While I would wait for time to forgive all the moments I had put aside.

So many questions I could ask, but no answers I'm willing to hear.

I'm so tired of us trying to be ourselves.

1 comments:
jason evans said...

A mix of anger and fatigue beyond the depression. Powerful.

This line really grabbed me: Hands to the lullaby tremoring.



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