Still running.

Welcome self.

listen - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XKPMgpBEoxA

It's all for what? The tired, weightless leather bottoms
of my body know the near million that could say
they've carried me. At the very least, they've carried
me. No one to hold, but in the vast sprawls of
bedding and cool spinning air there are moments
worth living, moments of my unharnessed self
waiting to be strewn about the mind fields of
seasonally felled wheat. Waiting patiently for
the weightlessness to carry itself upon a journey,
no matter how untold.
It's all for what? When these fields are burned by
a rain of desert sands, creating in me a callous of
irreparable change. I can see, amid the tree line,
the shadow of fear dancing, fingers woven tightly
to thistles of the forest floor. Offer it light.
Offer it the undoings.
Offer it the uncompressed self before it is
stripped away and thrown to the harrowed land.

There's so much faith and yet there's
no execution. I'd rather the truth
like a bullet to devour the calm in
my mind than a dance.

Parts

Long drives in your mind get you thinking about what's left behind.
Open roads of bones, varnished in memory detritus.
And together, these years, like phosphates, instill in us
such strength that we are capable of fabricating moments
beyond the complexity of time.


If there was a way to express longing with teaspoons of gratitude and
mouthfuls of everything I've ever wished there were words for,
I'd build a road through the din of modernity straight into the
atrium of the unseeable, ever-lasting light, where, together, we
can finally fill ourselves with the deepest breath of tangled limbs
and raveled sheets; so drenched in concrete, so sure and so free.


I need to feel loved. My ability to navigate from low points could use a helping hand.