Jun 18, 2006 18:05
looking into the eyes of a killer
on the street
past and passed
a dictionary
one definition seeps through my fingers
like hot dry sand in the middle of a desert
I am the wind
my head is a plastic bag
my head is filled freeway garbage
long has it been
the tide is dry
there are no more wells
there are no more sounds
only snakes
my hands are crushed, blistered, and twisted
from one thousand hand shakes
a thousand names
a thousand faces
all combined into the mangled wreckage
of a staring severed head
from underneath a tire
from under a car
from under the sky
from under the world
the faces names and hands all melt into one blob
of rotting carion waste
kisses and love letters float on the wind
anger and bad breath float on the wind
and the wind carries it all
a tired sunken trap
emotions and feelings
nerves burned to the bone
no phones, no home, no money,
where is Rome?
I need safety and shelter
plans for the future
a love a light and with this
a thousand sutures.
blunted, dull, and rusted
I am your old favorite knife buried deep in your stomach.