What’s ever going on these days?
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,
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
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
cut 3 strikes upon my flesh
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.
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.