You invited yourself along and all that you do came too. Carolyn’s shrub, wet with pain, you passed by as if you wore the night like a fairy tale. Now what have you done with the oyster of your mouth? Counting the steps of my vertebrae up to the moon that rattles in my brain amongst the deadwood of words; A white lie in the dream of corridors echoed through the old building like a rampant albino nettle. The piano played like a skeleton in the hunger of my heart; the music was a dark closeted room of loneliness; Despairing in the maze of rooms in my identity of ice and fire. A spoil of war put at your feet by the red ghost of love.
How often unfairness drags me through prison walls laughing
How often has unfairness blunted my own words in my own heart?
Tired alone and defeated by the stress of cats mewing in my brain
I left you to the spoils of war fashioned out of the ivories of my bones.
Now you have formed a mystery with me
Your inbred arrogance slips through the closed door like bath water.
I can hear the voices of the roses inside
But all I’m given are the pledges of distant voices.
My imagination is plastic and it is clay
It is formed into whatever you want it to from.
If I were a man made of glass windows
The world would see the fool inside in his red fur coat.
But it seemed like a normal day to Jehovah
And I seemed like a grain of sand in a fire.