The Color Of Hunger

Posts Tagged ‘mad

Gatherings of  modest raindrops make their way across November skies.
Staggering south as the wind blows. Hard.
55 now. Hugging pavement. Between all the lines.
.
Remains of your reflection loitering in my rear-view.
My eyes begin to leak with curiosity.
A fragile sensation.
Pupils go numb. So stuck on staring at yours. Through yours.
The answers caught beneath the irises. Such pretty irises.
So perfect.
So neat.
.
Yet who am I to be the judge of that?
I suppose I will never know; I cannot see from the inside-out.
So I remain silent.
Sometimes not being in control is the most beautiful thing in the world.
Mind over matter, fucking with these filthy feelings.
But feeling fucks back.
.
A witch with a massive, black book of ugly, mean spells.
Cast upon unsuspecting souls.
360’s on the spinal cord.
A spiral staircase of white.
There is no escape.
There is no end.
.

We never change our ways. Living in a water world of fake promise and faded future. Trapped here. And the people who can’t handle it are swimming in it. Searching for dry spots, but this pool has no steps or fancy rails. No shallow end. And no drain. So it fills up. And eventually seeps over the sides. Floods are constant. Damage is inevitable.

But the people are reaching out this time. They don’t want this. Stray water is uncomfortable.

Me?

I just get lost in it. With it. Above and below it. I sink and then I float. All the memories get tangled in filters. Spiderwebs of youth form inside them. Only a few remain. And I’m the outsider looking in. I grab for a piece dangling to my left. All I come back with is sticky. Drowning, but not from fear – curiosity is a tricky fellow.

I’m so tired of it now though.

I head for the ladder, right over left. Repeat. Right over left. Repeat. But these rungs are too slippery. And I am far too heavy.

Confused, my feet leave me at the ankles. I fall backwards, plunging below the surface yet again. Cold, wet, numb. I know this water all too well. But why is it so hard to get up? There’s got to be a reason for it all. But why can’t I find it?

Frustration sets in. Tears on fire. Slicing their way across sharp cheekbones, erasing hope as they greet the chin. A plastic surgeon with a butter knife. The flame is always cold once it reaches the lips. I’m left to taste the embers. Darkness falls, the people are crying out. And I’m right there with them.


iplaytrack1224@hotmail.com

I am a student of life. 23 years young. I observe. I experience. I learn. I am driven by creativity. And music. Good music. Indie and electronic. I love sensory details. Life is crazy. But meant for living. I have no regrets in mine. Only lessons. =]
September 2014
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