Unstory

non-sense

 

 

The sky became darker on that day, I don't remember

the clouds...if they billowed above me in soft patches, some

streaking that solid bowl of blue or grey. I did'nt look up,

didn't ponder the existence of such things...maybe I was just

leaving it up to you.

 

I always found beauty in the smallest of things, running my

fingers over the soft moss. Flowers were delicate, their colors

bright against green and blue.

 

Maybe the world changed colors since then, someone must've

flipped the switch, I think I'm living in black and white.

A place where even mirrors won't capture the light.

 

I looked down at the ground that day, soft pallet of

brown and grey, dust flying over my raggedy shoes, holes

in the dirt. I think...I might have thought that you were

going to save me.

But then I saw that you were walking away, as the mist

curled around your form, liquid salt forming around your

shadow eyes.

 

I suppose that I stood there, arms hanging, eyes dull and

unchanging, the wind against my back...as if pushing me

forward. Don't walk away..please.

If it stung my eyes, I can't remember..just the harsh pavement,

rolls of heat emitting from black, stripes on the concrete.

 

These things just might be..non existant. Something no

one else could ever attempt to understand...fleeting. Everything is

blurred, the erosion of time engulfing

your image, that platform of stone in the

courtyard, where our feet would trample over rocks, cigarette

butts.

The world was an ashtray...full of burning embers and grey.

 

The telephone wires were twisted, ensared by the hungry grasp of 

 howling trees. Brick walls encrusted, sharp knives carving into

memories. Glass...broken liquor bottles coated,

crunching into the grass, dieing leaves.

I think for a moment maybe, I just couldn't breathe.

 

I never had a story, just some back drop of heat and

confusion...screaming in the distance. Do I know you.

Maybe, but I wouldn't really know. Every one has porcelain

faces, smiling ghosts. If I could touch your solid hands, taste

that tenderness of senses..is that senseless?

 

So I thought that things would happen to me, maybe I would

go some place, out there..the wilderness was always

bending either which way..different sceneries that

blended together, I didn't want them to be lines on the map.

 

I'll change my view of things, leave behind chalk side walks

and rolled cigarrettes burning in over flowing trays..empty

days boiling over into insomniatic

night falls.

 

I won't let it go...standing on your patio, with chaotic nerves and

blinking eyes.

 

But I'll be packing up my suitcase..if I even have one around here,

and even if I don't, just be sure I'm going some where...out there.

 

 

 

 

 

Let it go...

Well, yeah, They always tell me so.

 

Author's Note

"...and besides who ever heard of a happy poet?"

Reviews

[Robin]

you found the pieces ~

[Omar Fendri]

Amazing. I honestly do love it. I like the writers who always struggle to hide deep meanings behind obscure sentences, as well you do here (for my point of view)
Really powerful ... I may understand it but not clearly... but i cherish it :)

[Zeitgeist Manifesto]

NICE! Behold the beauty of the subconscious mind.