I'm the product of palm reading, acting, ghosts, astrology, and my mother. Speaking is easy, but saying the important is difficult. My brain works on hot wings and M&Ms. Today the sky is gray, but tomorrow it may be orange. I see things the way I choose. Sometimes... I don't. Beware the fire palm of the nose twitching lady. If you're wondering who it is? Its me
I cannot seek help to serve my wicked ways. The sun is blue and my skin, grey. A standing ovation collapsed, along with my lungs. Dry, perturbed, they breathe in brittle glass. Harboring worse kept secrets and marriage charades. Lies are tearing the sky into a gaping infection. The people come out from their tiny houses with their mouths wide open. Hoping to catch a dream or perhaps a newborn fear. They stand with their splitting mouths. Tired of raw disappointment and feeling the escape of reality. There is a bandage of wires tied around my arm. Pulsing electronically through my memories of faked brown eyes. Something about this morning, made me an observer. I rather fetch the run, then tear up for the end of infinity. My hand yearns to grab my other, to stop writing. The mind is a hollow speck of sanity. It hates me…hates…me
Damn these invisible people. They hold up my shame and dignity. Both on the same rope. Both burning from each end. The invisible people you call ghosts are now lead in my veins. I squish them between my fingers, then push them off finger cliff. It’s not alright. Today isn’t okay. I’m a little shallow for thinking I was the next almighty. A knock can always prove a man wrong. Knock, Knock, Knock and then it was months.