I knew night might dim but noon might fight them.
so soon, sight liked him. it still spoke of it's high wind.
it still soaked in the night's grin.
moon's might take flight if there's dry gin.
and so i found a moment of peace, and went on about before.
the shore's one and only door.
she knelt, and whispered, "you're on the floor."
and so i found myself being lifted right before i met dead.
my eyes shine the brightest red.
she laughed and said, "it's bed."
and so i died that night, the brightest thing.
I watched the life contort it's seams.
the shrilling sound, the empty screams.
she woke me, saying, "ignore your dreams."
and so i went to work, no dirt to escape. no 6 feet down, no one at my wake.
no one at my side, i died that day.
my friend shook me saying, "it's our lunch break."
and so i found myself ending that mental poem.
that one that sits high on it's thrown. that one i cuddle until it is thrown.
ya, i left it there and now im home.
I still speak like it's high wind, though i flew right by them.
the night might like him, but it's POETRY - it's like sin.
it's like a tragedy that left the sea to haunt and stalk me in my sleep.
like a dripping faucet on my face, i wake up just to get a taste.
i handle this like i handle life: coffee, cigarette and real dull knife.
to slice my thoughts but not my skin, besides it's never one to thin.
not like the girl whose barren waste will fall upon my drunken face.
not like the boy who beats his heart just to try to make it start.
i've seen them stop, i've watched them go.
like the ebb of tide, like a winding road.
like a windy boy who felt better at night..
but his words weren't there, they're soaked in fright.
noon never came, and the moon's grin bites.
the dry gin showed, and so did he...finally. the end we meet.