Untitled

I ran with the breath of the wind away
From you and your pretenses
If only life would slow; would settle and calm
If life would yellow and brown and mold and curdle
Move, move, move
Trapped by sadistic fate
Like milk long forgotten
Curdle like your vain lies and vanities
Spilling like the pages and pages in my head
Flaking at the seams, the binding worn and tired
Returned to dust like powdered insect legs
Useless and morose
But return me not to dust
To dust
Magnifying my humanity
Humanly
Quelling the fear of the insanity of sin
Breaking my bones to restore in me hope
The afterbirth of the fallen state
Prelude, dialogue, "end" on a single page
Restored to life, but do I live?
Beautiful, beautiful life where are you?
Hiding under my bedroom pillow?
Dripping like livid fire
Red and bleeding from my eyes, my hands
Shaking a'fire with anger and fear
Solid and hopeful but buried in ashes made and stayed
Thick layer of pretend
The things they take out of story books to make children believe it will be alright
When you used to understand and I you
But maybe it is all a sick dream
A pretense of my own my folly and your pride
Your sick head and my sick mind
Are the synonymous vengeance we seek without a holy purpose
We seek but never venture further then our mattress halls
And cushioned wall among beggar's heads