The man in the sky

Your shape becomes transparent

Hands that spoke for you,

Now linger in this demise

Leave no clue, maybe tomorrow

Hope is one filthy bastard, isn’t it?

Maybe the day after, maybe never

You are bartered, material for sentiment

Word for word. You are not ready

My trademark is the wind. What’s yours?

Kind of like, a crying violin

The man in the sky takes credit for

Borrowings, these. Carefully spilling unto your sponge-like swaying

Pockets full of nothing

An icy dagger through a bird’s beak
Betrayal working its magic
Swallowing the sun

Who would’ve known
That awareness would hide behind the unseen
The rest, punctured, cuddled up in a heap

I know it means a lot to you
Your input in every move there is to freeze
Cracked ribs, broken knees

Jambled up within tragedy
I find the paper plane return to its station
Fingers painted with stains, ablaze

I don’t get how, the swinging chair lost its friction
Over slippery floors, worked up boards
And you thought you outsmarted the rest on chess, them being color blind, you unable to perceive sight

By betting it all, becoming a millionaire
Hands nothing but strangers, to pockets full of nothing
   A peacemaker starting a riot

Dust in my eyes
Louder than words, an epiphany
Stoning my demons to death

The archer that strikes from behind

It must make sense to synchronize a body

into a series of the complex; rust unpolished.

Less sense, however, to digest the susceptibility

of the rough, with the raw, with the weary

To the orphans of this gawky road, can’t even‍

I’ll pretend it’s alright, it is as much as it isn’t

You’d give it all, just to gain it all

Don’t. Even for a minute

Convince your other self

That woodpeckers carve because they sculpt.

 

You whom I let escape

Your cloak

Hula hoops around your knees, a recap

You listen, just to relate

Whisper; just to misinterpret

The curtain closes on your big act

You taught me wrong

It’s not safe here, neither is it outside

People have always been afraid of what they don’t understand

 

You whom I let escape,

Roll these stones with you, give them pace

 

The child within, running away from you

A facade of neon lights gone unnoticed

As the alienated flee; a thousand follow

They worry, their hands turn to dust