Old places fade hard, and no matter how long
You row upstream, the water still makes waves
That carry the rest of us away.
You are what you weep,
From your head down to the sleet.
Fell, tripped up the stairs to the place
Void in all hints of home.
Watch with your heart, run with your gut,
Ever so careful not to lose
The fragile beauties of motivation.
A whir of warning winds signal me back to birth.
Watch with your heart, run with your gut,
Ever so careful not to lose your mold.
They laughed to all the intrusive music,
They danced hard enough
To wake from a non fiction-based nap,
They killed me
When I couldn't be a source of entertainment,
Strung like a puppet to every degree of debt
In social contribution by the migraine.
Our fight keeps using a voice
That needs rekindling.
I promised wet weather to myself
From the moment I set foot into my own autopsy.
Past all the shimmer,
Beyond the urine-stenched conglomerates
Of those without a set of eyes
To make contact with.
There is but the utter of all necessaries,
Pushing ones that brimming light
Through the dregs of apartment life,
A necessity that
Leaves me short of breath in the end.
Watch with your heart, run with your gut.
Primate winds blow me back to old bloodstreams.
