sorry if I'm on a bit of a poetry splurge right now. It's easier to dish out than narratives.
fleeing from the promised land
you take your mother by the hand
you ask her what the sun is for
but she can't tell you any more.
a childhood spent avoiding gases,
thinking aloud- solving mazes
but the maze gets bigger still
when nettles fall upon the sill
you want to know what life's about?
feast your eyes upon the sweet rotted lining of your wallet-
nothing? I thought not.
your hairs askew
your skin is bleached
your love is crying at your feet
"I don't need you" you try to scream
all that comes out is muffled sleet
well isn't that discreet?
Breaking glass you slam the book
"You lied to me!" but you mistook
the answers there for something else
just lay it there upon the shelf
revisit it some other time
when your thoughts not muffled by the wailing child inside your brain
just give him a sucker to last him about an hour and a half
and earn some tasteless laughs.
well, average is as average does
I'm drowning here in the standards and practices of that office building
calling through the spider web of electric lines
to tell the woman screaming about the broken lingerie
and don't you pity her as well?
Of course you do
you're meant to anyway.
I've seen my life run fast in circles
here and there and back again
getting lost because of friends
who see the world so differently
through eyes of painted tape.