Bending slowly the caverns release the calcified boots of shame like stones into the abyss. Long is their gone hollow empty contortions artists that imagine roses in their dissaproval. Breathes that gasp like dialogue in the heart throb, a knife wound hissing in four four time the anesthetics that drain the bad the sour and the pace that chases our fears.
Black filled veins like stale cherry cola they called me every name and they gave me the book. Never did I hate them or sharpen this axe as the roots tear from ankle to stem the faces contort into the suburbs that lay leaves in the ditch party summer’s in the dumps. I was never invited lights out their hearts broken like fine tin rusted in refrigerant that flows from the old school reasons to gloat. Ransomed and locked away I was alone as the rain washed the hillside green. White hands touch the filth and sqauler the song that sang the bright so removed their shards simmer in white heat as the righteous laugh. Laughter to the highest heaven I remember as their pretense turns to sand glistening and painted feelings drawn out as the bright become tall the ankles crack and the roots snap.
Baseline cues and the hillside path loosens from barbed wire and scorched hands that adjusts to these bloodshot eyes. It just way too bad I’ve wasted all this time being sad my heart jump ropes while I’m waiting. The peaks are cold and the valley low holding on here there is a hope in my heart that is full and sharp hooked deep carry on kid as the sand turns to grasss that dreams of being green. They can’t lock you up he’s murdered their progress and melted all their keys he’s unsewn your mouth and shut away their captivating lunacy. Bled is liquid plaid the color of my energy wings like eagles touchdown into lasting ecstacy.
When I heard your name the electric left breathe huddled as the air stood stail. Comma times new roman those eyes track the words from synaptic misfires as the catalytic foam washes over and I am void with out reason.
Hearts like these never carry far so heavy as we untie, unravel as the floor escapes the flood light of the back yard. Sweating across this night time scene we shrugg our chains.
Hopes float in release as the air tastes in hints of fall like the first inhales of autumn we fair like the waves of innocent waving in and out of time. Superstitions retracted as the unknown looks back in fear from where we could have gone knowing where we are. Houses calm as the wind hits my face the ticking of our hearts drum like music against our worst fears. Looks disengage from what was a burial ground is a tar mat for take off.
Hands in unison we fly in tears as where we had been found dead a float is the point of reference. We are tail lights in the wind.
Substance bleeds in like foreign sunlight no ghosts fill the ashes the former vast like diamonds. Faces haunt the windows as they were a gazed fixed eternally on the well in chests now nostalgically asthmatic. Uphill the climb to be a fixture of decay as the neck ties, turn into coast lines, then into skinned knees on bike rides racing towards the scene of crimes long atoned for.
Elegant the waltz of careful comfort as fear escapes the ridges of wounds self inflicted. The ankles of the heart perpetually sprained over and over as the fingers trace the way back home around the lip of the same cup of coffee. That’s evaporated into the eye lids that never open in this haunted house there is a depth that is carved out in this man like a key in a book that no one is allowed to read. It’s kept on a shelf in a house constantly being demolished in rubble built upon rubble.
There is a sovereign hand that peels back layers refined in justice for this sprain. Contoured is the hollows of this hand as the dream is allowed to properly decay. Grey morning skies tremble in as grace flumes around in the air in the front porch light. Unwilling to leave as sweet conditions illuminates the inward image as the glass breaks. The inward sinking is properly buried as the dim look one gives a burial at sea inside a fresh meadow overlooking a patch of trees, grave, and a well. No longer does one linger in the same dead end streets that promise promises with its sunsets, and romance. There is no longer hair styles that can tame the desire of where we are going. There is is just a soft voice in white that leads on.