Imagine drowning in the most respectful way. Your last breath are on display, fogging up the window as the crowd cheers on. You've somehow wandered onto this stage, and now find yourself wondering the height of the fall. When you're not busy gasping for air you find yourself slipping under, as you grow tired of resisting. You see, I hold myself captive to these unattainable standards and unpickable roses. I want, I want, I want, yet I never have achieved the altitude to do so. I wish for strands even, of bleeding normalcy but any trace of well being I have ever been granted has taken euthanization; if not by myself than by the sewn seeds of you destructive fiends. Bent, rusted and incapable to feel, it's not to hard to minuscule when the view from the window is yesterday's grey. Don't reach for the stars, because if you miss you still land among the moon. And the moon my friend, the moon is alone. The moon is barren, and frigid and left to orbit in the black, it wallows in its own dark. When the stars come out, no light is shone, and even lesser is felt. The cratered surface, emotionless and unresponsive, mirrors the flat-line of my bedside electrocardiogram. There hasn't been a beat in a week, as I watch the meteor go by, rolling on a closed eye. In unsustainable temperatures, hope freezes to dust. Ashes to ashes dust from dust, watch your shoes at the site of the implosion.
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
Man on the Moon (The Doctors part II.)
After receiving a Vegan Eating pamphlet and a series of HPV shots, I'm not terminal. The car ride home, was a different story. Decidedly, I'm come to self diagnosed myself with an inferiority complex that I keep ranting on about. Now for the ones on the outside of the white pickett fence, I am going to try to explain this as best as I can.
Imagine drowning in the most respectful way. Your last breath are on display, fogging up the window as the crowd cheers on. You've somehow wandered onto this stage, and now find yourself wondering the height of the fall. When you're not busy gasping for air you find yourself slipping under, as you grow tired of resisting. You see, I hold myself captive to these unattainable standards and unpickable roses. I want, I want, I want, yet I never have achieved the altitude to do so. I wish for strands even, of bleeding normalcy but any trace of well being I have ever been granted has taken euthanization; if not by myself than by the sewn seeds of you destructive fiends. Bent, rusted and incapable to feel, it's not to hard to minuscule when the view from the window is yesterday's grey. Don't reach for the stars, because if you miss you still land among the moon. And the moon my friend, the moon is alone. The moon is barren, and frigid and left to orbit in the black, it wallows in its own dark. When the stars come out, no light is shone, and even lesser is felt. The cratered surface, emotionless and unresponsive, mirrors the flat-line of my bedside electrocardiogram. There hasn't been a beat in a week, as I watch the meteor go by, rolling on a closed eye. In unsustainable temperatures, hope freezes to dust. Ashes to ashes dust from dust, watch your shoes at the site of the implosion.
Imagine drowning in the most respectful way. Your last breath are on display, fogging up the window as the crowd cheers on. You've somehow wandered onto this stage, and now find yourself wondering the height of the fall. When you're not busy gasping for air you find yourself slipping under, as you grow tired of resisting. You see, I hold myself captive to these unattainable standards and unpickable roses. I want, I want, I want, yet I never have achieved the altitude to do so. I wish for strands even, of bleeding normalcy but any trace of well being I have ever been granted has taken euthanization; if not by myself than by the sewn seeds of you destructive fiends. Bent, rusted and incapable to feel, it's not to hard to minuscule when the view from the window is yesterday's grey. Don't reach for the stars, because if you miss you still land among the moon. And the moon my friend, the moon is alone. The moon is barren, and frigid and left to orbit in the black, it wallows in its own dark. When the stars come out, no light is shone, and even lesser is felt. The cratered surface, emotionless and unresponsive, mirrors the flat-line of my bedside electrocardiogram. There hasn't been a beat in a week, as I watch the meteor go by, rolling on a closed eye. In unsustainable temperatures, hope freezes to dust. Ashes to ashes dust from dust, watch your shoes at the site of the implosion.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
isn't that picture from the movie Hugo?
ReplyDelete