.

sink deeper.
get lost, engulfed in the salt water.
tumbled sand castle at the shore.
tired mothers.
"come back here, honey."
long legged, dirty hands, left shoe on the right foot, lunch still on their cheek.
voices are faint.
but still present.
back to the ocean floor.
face to the sun.
eye lids, coverage.
you're naked though.
skin bare.
lifeless, but each wrist holds a pulse.
floating, remembering.
don't forget.
the water's got you.
sink.
sank.
sunken.

oh, test tube.

swallow me.
allow me to swim within you.
i want to feel what it's like to be inside of you.
i want to take you in.

First AA meeting.

white shirt.
tassled fabric
messy hair, collected stature.
she began.
one knee bent.
right leg locked.
left leg loose.
looser than my joints.
her dates have stories.
attatched and intertwined with each number.
"four years on the streets", she said.
chemicals were for breakfast.
a small needle for snack.
time with him for lunch.

cold air and a sidewalk for dinner.
"i'll be fine", she mumbled.
that's what i thought.

grandma's china.

follow city streets.
common passerby's.
commuting.
going home to dimmed lights and half a grin.
the food prepared for you sits on grandmas china.
placed on the table.
next to the note she left you.
beside the glass of wine she poured for you, while her regrets fell out of her eyes in liquid form.
drip.
drip.
drip.

practiced and repeated.

alarm wakes you.
startled, yet not suprised.
dazed, yet my feet know just where to step.
its routine.
practiced and repeated.
the choice isn't yours.
pages will turn without your asking.
passages read without your wanting.
pressed into each curve of your brain cells.
imprinted into every corned or your mind.
and while your given those few moments alone,
while warm water beats down your tired skin,
you remember what it is you left behing.
the saddened mind sets, and worried eyes.
you miss them.
i miss them.
it'll be over soon.

birds

although it feels like your brain can't handle the flight.
and although it feels as if your limbs grow weak from the height,
your wings will prove you're strong.
against your beak, cold gases flow.
ruffling your wings, finding it's way through each feather.

cold gases fill your lungs.
you long to feed those smaller than you,
those which are housed at the nest
the one you so carefully created.
each branch which you so cautiously crafted to be placed next to another.

you grow so easily tired.
fatigued from the plight.
weakened.
but your wings will prove you're strong.
fly baby, fly.
land, and love, feed and care, leave and soar.

ohhhhhhhh yes.

i kinda feel like that little plastic man in the red hat.

so,

i would like to dye my hair this color in the spring.
                                 thoughts ?

these floors are usually made of wood

these floors are usually made of wood.

and i normally walk upon them with ease, and a sense of self control.

today, however, i have walked with hinderance.

among the floors,

which are no longer made of wood,

but feathers instead.

instead everything is made of feathers.

light, and easy to understand.

easily housing each family on your street.

feather doors, and window curtains.

feather fruit bowls, and jewelry boxes.

walking on feathers feels nice.

it's simple, and quaint.

i just don't know if i quite get it yet.

cause of all the things that appear so simple, 

really are the most complex in my mind.

i'll pick apart every feather which my feet have stepped upon. 

and pry through every small strand which holds a belonging.

that's all-right.

it's quite all-right.

i'll be like a feather soon.

poked, and prodded, and picked apart.

it's all-right

it's quite all-right.

darlin'

looks like i'm goin' back.

i guess it's time.

i sorta feel like i'm watching myself.
like all this shit
it's happening and everything
and i'm experiencing it.
but not necessarily feeling it happen.
i'm just watching it all.
floating while decisions are made.
and pills are placed into small little paper cups.
those fucking paper cups.
y'know, maybe it wont be half bad.

maybe like a fourth.
but i fucking hate peeing in cups.
those fucking plastic cups.
bleh.

sometimes

i feel like my heart is outside my chest.

and you can see it beating.

i wish it would stop.

Made of natural components

Made of a natural components.

I stretch my limbs beneath the surface of which you walk upon.

And climb the stairs of your atmosphere.

Drunk on the liquid which is poured upon me.

My body is long, 

And thin.

Bear, and forgiving.

Im obsolete

An ancient concept which will never grow old.

This patch of land

Right beneath the windows of your living room,

It has been home to me for years.

I bore my children on this very soil.

Sometimes they take my neighbors.

With their big white hands

In one grasp.

And to the sanctuary they go

Where everyone sits

And sings in unison

A chanting to the candles lit,

And the figure strewn across the metal cross.

Other times the hands take my friends

To places where those with older hands

Are soon to leave.

My friends are symbols

And given to those which are in need

Those white hands picked my children.

And brought them to places I had never heard of

And I longed for a drinking 

I was thirsty for what the hands would pour.

you know,