My feet are stuck in this same old place,
But my heart is beating a thousand miles away.
It’s sipping coffee on a river bank,
And making angels in a bed of sand.
It’s paddling across a mountain lake,
And it’s sitting next to you, holding your hand.
I’ve stood in the house of your wings and listened to you flap to the beat of time.
Open and close to show your beauty to the world.
Just a glimpse, and then you’re off.
Flying so high, I’m forced to squint to find you again.
Is that your hope?
To keep me looking up?
I will look to you forever.
Five minutes of your voice will soothe my heart for eternity.
Near or far.
Just like we said.
I want to live between the pages of an old book.
Let the faded print sustain my hunger.
Let the dull, curled pages shelter me from the cold outside.
The musty smell would be my new perfume.
I’d live here in this worn and weathered world until the binding breaks.
Our dreams are not linear.
We live terrible lives in the dark of night.
As the brakes screech over and over. I see you sitting next to me.
As the glass breaks over and over. I hear you telling me goodbye.
These soft sheets yield dark lives in the terrible of night.
Golden honey sticks and butterfly wings.
Fractals of the truth.
Another knife digs into my abdomen. I hear you whisper goodbye.
Another tube goes down my throat. I see you sitting next to me.
Just a peak of light slowly creeps into the muscles of my mind.
As I begin to wake,
the wings flap one last time.
In every hurt there is a hope.
A hope that tomorrow will be different.
A hope that every question will be answered.
A hope that the struggle will end and life will begin again.
So go ahead and hurt today.
Tomorrow is full of hope.
Please turn my scars into works of art
Make them something new
Color away every blemish
Please leave no trace or clue
Hold my secrets in your hands
Then toss them away when you’re through
Our bellies are full of grass-fed, pasture raised, hormone free eggs
Our flannels are tired around our waists
We are going to change the world
Mason jars line our shelves
We are preservative free
Our conscious is woke
Our microbrews and faux leather shoes
Show you that we know better
We tweet and tag about it all from our rose gold iphones
We’re not a slave to the production line
You can’t sell to us
Can’t you see? My beef is lactose free.
Life is a long joke.
I’m waiting for the punchline.
Hoping for a laugh.
My dreams are a labyrinth, and I’m reluctantly waiting for Pan.
Twists and turns that I cannot intelligently escape.
Why are you here?
What can this mean?
Into the woods.
Into the woods.
The hot air balloon whisks me to the sky with another skeleton at the helm.
My mistakes on repeat.