Pavement slithers
Beneath me,
Amazed.
Holding on to air
I glide
On a breezeway,
Wafting
A homeless odor,
Some say it is me,
But
I am no different
Than those
Who walk these lands…
…I just never leave.
This is no home,
More of a…
…lay over.
Soon, steel wings
Shall meet gold gates
In refuge for my own
Humanity…
…sanity.
Walking in a slumber
I venture off..
Street madness
Tugs me,
Self in depth
Drowning,
Refusing to paddle.
Steps pull me,
Feet kiss
The puckered ground.
O how our mouth tastes
Of cigarettes,
And
Faded smiles.
Yet,
Your touch
Soothes a skin
Allowing the scars
To settle in.
This one’s from you
Remember,
I sware the scab
Enjoys life,
Seemingly happy
Smiling up.
Carved
Into my lower brow,
Attempting to
Slit the throat
Of eye.
Resistance,
A locked door
Made of perfect tree
Ashes.
From which caught fire
As I camped in hell,
Taken advantage of
By cheap booze
And leaves,
That stayed
In laughter
And erotic fantasies
Of concerned
Bystanders.
The Key,
Remains mysterious.
For its whereabouts
Are unknown,
To even my sanity...
...which leads to leapholes.
for to my good fortune,
i shoot life with
a double minded barrel.
Which means,
The key to the answers
Embedded in my soul
Are untraceable through
My very own existence.
LUCKILY!
Death
Is but a locksmith,
And as I refuse to eat
The scraps
Given from generous donors
In silver trash decore.
I find my bed
To reak of rotting flesh,
A smell
That keeps me focused
On the door within.
Because of decayed lips
my tongue hides
behind swollen tonsils..
gargling ideas,
I bring a sign instead...
Death,
The keys to my soul
Please.
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