Still Adrift

What’s ever going on these days?

She asked

I couldn’t answer

When you have as long a history of fucking up as I’ve had, you tend to take things in stride.

Everything in stride.

There’s nothing left but forward momentum to keep this shuttle moving,

Through space,

To wherever  we’re going,

And going fast.

Fly too close to the sun and you get burned,

Fly into it and someday you’ll be a radiant puff in a white hot oblivion

And I’ll be a star again.

Seemed the best course of action given the circumstances.

Just a slow ride to death

And nothing between here and there but living.

The computers will catch what dying brilliance I can muster between then and now

Forevermore I’m in the universes hands

With the steering out, thems the brakes, gone too

But the first thing I’ll hit, is glory, though I’ll likely evaporate long before hand

Hands…

How I remember them, the soft touch of hard hands, holding me

The Second Story a man had to tell, another child held high in a hospital

The whisperings of mothers gathered round and cooing playing with my miniscule digits

Born into an ocean heard such as when my hands reaching through the waters

Clawing at the light for life

A breath that left me without a voice clutching to my throat

I worked a way with words, on pages pen in hand scrawled out what language lay unknown to me

came out smiling through the madness

and imagineered my escape into the heavens

These hands, that broke hearts

Climbed trees,

cut 3 strikes upon my flesh

Bing!

Bang!

Boom!

Ringing in skin such undeliverable sin unto my body

Silhouetted strings that played me like a fiddle

The Uber-Marionette at it’s finest

Flippy, floppy failure of a form

More devil than fool

Atop his hill staring wildly at the brink

How fitting to have always favored the void

And here I am, stuck in the pitch of it.

Pitch…

Black from sticking wouldn’t rub off for days,

A pinch on your finger and you’d be lobster clawing for days

And picking up toilet paper and tissues.

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