and we're all poorly drawn chalk lines strewn across a million landmines. Hand stands on scared nettles and bleeding thorn vines. We were born fine but corrupted by our own air. Heirs to the vacant throne inside the broken home of despair. We're the watermark on a voided check. Dried up ink fading with the sunset. The temperature is rising, we're doing just the opposite. Drawn to extinction with out a composite sketch. We are the evidence in our own criminal negligence.
I could string together words like pearls and let them gently kiss your neck. But the lack of waves in the emotion would make the storm meaningless. I was born in a home without a father or a roof. a revolving door of false truths and apathy as the proof. A shattered faith and no escape as the smoke stacks laid waste. The trains burning holes in to space with the coal from their freight. I looked on from my window in 1988. Back then we were late. Not fashionably, just conveniently spending money irrationally.but there is no currency , then or currently, that could stop the tornadoes from running free so stunningly.
We are nuclear bombs controlled by automatons. There's dead bees on the lawn and the flowers are gone. I'm not yet a chalk line but I'm getting measured. If only I could stop the weather by saying something clever. I won't follow the street signs to a inevitable never. I may be with the ashes, but I burn with purpose. I will jump across the landmines till I'm no longer nervous. Eternal struggle worth every hour it brings. I'll bounce your acid rain checks in the interest of the notes the birds sing. She will rise.
No comments:
Post a Comment