| | Girl with star eyes fire hair and water skin, do call me. I think of sweet roses in my life and how I am waiting to release my heart. Waiting and watching and trying undying though flying denying the sighing of her chest. And I'm not lying. I look at such natural blossoms left and falling petals right and I can see myself hit the ground again and again and again.
I think of the time I flew from building to building and half way through lost my footing and fell. I landed on the ground and felt the crush of my lungs and my liver against my ribs and my heart. My splintering spine and flaking bones jab me from within as my eyes crush from inside to out. This end, this desolate end goes beyond all comprehension to the point of purest dreams. And though it seems unreal, it is my day and is my artifact of the sun. I wait and wait and wait and yet this moment does not escape my pocket even to tell my name. The clothing kept, no seam stretched, the ghost of the tree stands waiting and once again my death has changed. Yet still, somehow, it is death.
My hollow hallow waits to be cut down and gently placed where its feet never reached. Sadly sorrow surrounds such sweet souls yet they taste of tonic and tinctures tried twice by bitter braves. The rope I held so dearly holds me now. In oven sunlight vultures peck and I allow. Dropping their desserts, they cry and caw all along the edges of the afternoon. Bright and early two days later adventurers find my treasured inner gold. All good parts not rusted at high prices quickly are sold.
And I missed my pounding heart. And I missed my pounding mind. And I missed my lungs and some how died. Powder graces my hands and covers my hair. No single cell abandons the flaming ship but they all try. No captain to lead they are leaded and can not leave. My headache is gone but my thoughts remain. For each new moment is the same as the last, my eyes are relieved of their pressure. Down the hallway I see him. Not sure what he's done or who he's been. Still I wonder what his daughter has seen. Will she call out or keep it all in? I will fall down once again.
Still I see her boiling her face and brightening her sight. Two solid orange moons open and are dotted. Debating the weight of fated satyrs singing of ancient freight. Oh the anger of the wait! Autumn falls and flowers wilt leaving leaves like me to drop and hit the ground again and again and again.
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| | Posted 10/10/2007 12:30 AM - 23 Views - 0 eProps - 0 comments
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