Rough Trade
22 September 2008 12:48![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
skonen_bladesMy days are numbered but they’re all out of order. I’m shuffled.
I can see it in their eyes. My friends carry me like pall bearers. My whole world is an emergency room. I’m a bridge rusting away to scars. I feel like an old folks home filled with birthdays no one remembers.
There are those for whom the deeper valleys of feeling will remain uninhabited. Sex will be athletic and fun for them, most poetry worth a raised eyebrow. They’ll do fine. A collection of evolutionary dead ends, throwbacks, and ceiling fans that make up most of the populace.
I clutch advice and courage close to my chest and feel the broken-motorboat generator that teaches my soul to sing. Some faces are timeless.
I saw her small-town mouth of flowers and I felt like I was a contestant on “so you think you can speak?” In the same way that skydiving is a controlled fall, her voice was a controlled scream. I loved our little place, the island of when we talked.
She spoke to parts of me that had never been addressed.
I feel the air for Braille. I tap out morse-code nightmares in the dark. There are souls swirling around without a compass pushing through the streets.
tags
I can see it in their eyes. My friends carry me like pall bearers. My whole world is an emergency room. I’m a bridge rusting away to scars. I feel like an old folks home filled with birthdays no one remembers.
There are those for whom the deeper valleys of feeling will remain uninhabited. Sex will be athletic and fun for them, most poetry worth a raised eyebrow. They’ll do fine. A collection of evolutionary dead ends, throwbacks, and ceiling fans that make up most of the populace.
I clutch advice and courage close to my chest and feel the broken-motorboat generator that teaches my soul to sing. Some faces are timeless.
I saw her small-town mouth of flowers and I felt like I was a contestant on “so you think you can speak?” In the same way that skydiving is a controlled fall, her voice was a controlled scream. I loved our little place, the island of when we talked.
She spoke to parts of me that had never been addressed.
I feel the air for Braille. I tap out morse-code nightmares in the dark. There are souls swirling around without a compass pushing through the streets.
tags
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Date: 22 Sep 2008 20:00 (UTC)no subject
Date: 22 Sep 2008 20:03 (UTC)no subject
Date: 22 Sep 2008 20:06 (UTC)but he'll keep falling anyway.
no subject
Date: 22 Sep 2008 21:30 (UTC)no subject
Date: 22 Sep 2008 23:33 (UTC)excellent.
no subject
Date: 22 Sep 2008 20:20 (UTC)no subject
Date: 22 Sep 2008 21:29 (UTC)no subject
Date: 22 Sep 2008 23:21 (UTC)