walkingfish

Bones from the Cold Sea: They are worn a Hollow White Not so much as Me.

Ink drips from my fingertips, And falls into reflections-- images of dreams, now turning to                        r      u            s                  t                     . ----- I am dripping, pouring these thoughts (These unrelenting tho

Today, the rain fell for awhile Then it left And so did I.

I am done. (Before I finish.) I am not  w o r d s . I am not  i m p o r t a n t . I am not a  s o u l . What am I? Oh what, oh what Oh what could I be? When I Am so small a speck (when the bombs hit the deck) and my pieces are lying (but I swear, my words won’t) What am I to you? …! What could I ever be to you…? I’ll start a movement, of how I ONCE was A father, a brother, a friend (before I met My end.) And now here I lie, With the truths I’ve uncovered: Everything returns to Numbers. No more! No more of these, these Anti-souls! These Numbers! Am I only               A Number?            

I swear, I swear, I will be anything. I'll drink this batch of  a c i d  lies if it means I can be Truth. My throat burns with insincerities, but please, don't bare my soul. "Oh please, just keep my  m i n d whole." G  R  A  V I  T  Y: This is the fabric of my s p i r i t . Pull at the seams, and see if I  b l e e d , I swear, I swear, I can do anything. Thump, thump, crunch, crunch, Here comes the lump, lump, in my throat; Could you kindly please, please, give me my coat? I've sang my song, the dance is done, The girls have gone home, and Marx has won. "This plea has no encore, my part is now played, I swear, I sw

You want to judge me? Well...          step                 right                         up. I d a r e you go                                on. I d a r e you Tell me what I k n o w . Tell me what                   I don't know. Oh, you could d o c u        m         e         n         t a l l o f my faults. You could              ill-ustrate m e and m y s  c a   r s with endless photos, snap- s h o t s of pain. You could              de-story m e and m y s e   l    f with your WIS. DOMS; pages of ex-perience. Don't mind me. Lick your fin-ger and f l            i p th

manipulate ME? Well, we'll s e e . . . Attachment, attachment, the strings fall d    o      w         n            , Attachment, attachment, I'll see you a    o    n     .    r    u     d Go on, go on, take your great b o w , But who yanks this cord?                   &#

How  f a r  ? How long, how        long will I gasp and g r a s p across this di s t a  n  c   e    ? Rhythmic digital, soundless static treads down the voids, the  s p a c e s we avoid. Cold liquids and lukewarm air; these are the elements, the lives that we d o n ' t share. There is no lace, no grace. Only a loss of face and c o l d empty, replies. Time will usher things along, and our minds will grow d i s t a n t to the tune of a song-- one that rhymes with                                                          g o n e Closer, we are pressed and farther, we do d r i f t . the tides carry

Oh, you you you... y o u        s t o l e... y o u . . . w a i t . . . click, click, whirr goes the mechanics of my mind and thump...thump...thump... go your heavy, d u s t y footsteps. Each getting c l o s e r as the clock t i c k s syllables. Planets,         stars, a n d         words spin through my mind with an accuracy          even a r e a l robot would envy. But no, don't get me wrong; this human              

We all should know better.                                          But we don't seem to want               to learn. Say good morning to the sun (and the headaches) Yes, you should worry; secrets are best kept                      Safe Under lock and key, at t