Tuesday, October 5, 2010

My Mouth Is Like A Grenade

As I raise my head towards the heavens...
to take one last look at the moon...
the stars begin to fall.

Its rained for 5 days straight...All gray and gloomy and I feel white washed...
Biting my tongue until it bleeds...I am getting bored. 
Sitting in one place, counting the floor tiles...over and over and over...
Sometimes getting the same number...then starting over. 

I need something to break the redundancy. 

Maybe I'll count the fibers in the carpet.

Sitting crossed legged in front of the fire...letting it blister my skin.
Like the sun used to do as I sat on the beach...letting the sun tan and the salt water bleach out my hair.

The sky is red tonight...It moves streaming with rain that beats the pavement. 
Sounding like the military movement of left, right, left, right...

I'll shut my eyes to remember the symphonies...the orchestra of these storms.
I am surprised to find myself running in the cold drops...the tears from Valhalla. 

I feel them wash over my fragile body...Letting them mat my hair to my face.

I think they took away my voice.

Silently turning to ash,
-J.C.

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