Slip Slidin' Away

 

Slip Slidin’ Away

 

Like a trick at a magic show,

I pretend I’m asleep and it’s only a dream.

A dream where I lay in bed and desperately

try to fall into unconsciousness.

Unconsciousness always toys with my emotions.

Like my brain when it comes, my mouth is dry

without moist and spoiled like morning’s sour.

The silence creates a loudness that rings

undisturbed throughout my aching head.

The musky odor plays dumb to my

already immune sense of smell.

Everything is black, but I like it that way.

The way Jack Melbourne welcomes the morning

in his windowless home on bright street.

Bright Street is always sunny.

It’s not that sunny really.

Even in the dark part of town

light still creeps in through the cracks.

With a singing voice that no one knows

beautiful and piercing but unrecognizable.

Like a polythistesiack that cannot be cured.

It sways and moves with the wind

flowing tenderly like a concrete statue.

We were all just misfits

in a world that was only ever Slip Slidin’ Away.

There’s a women here, who became a wife

these are the very words she uses to describe her life:

she said a good day ain’t got no rain,

she said a bad day is when I lie in bed and think

of things that might have been.

We all thought she was crazy: logically insane they’d call it.

Then we’d chalk up her cracky drive way

with a graffiti intent, but no matter what

it always ended up looking like an artist’s mural.

hasta la vista baby!

That’s what we said when she left

but I never believed it.