Friday, April 29, 2011

You, Perhaps, Aren't Awake Are You?

I'm missing something,
in these empty bones.

Yes, empty bones because they won't quite ever be filled.

I grow accostumed to these lonely things, and rub my eyes as though they don't mean anything.
I hush the sleep that crowds my mind and refuse to streatch for these achy bones.

You, perhaps, aren't awake are you?
Because quite possible, I'm dreaming to everything else that's surrounding me,
but I've been convinced that you are the only thing breathing, as far as I can see.

I'm a rusty chain, broken in half from a bicycles wheel and I'm unattached to these hopeless things that my pedals have given up on.

I'm riding in circles,
in circles,
in circles,

I'm repeating a race I've already won,
or lost,
or maybe in between,
Because my perception has always been a little off.

I'm too tired to express these things,
I'll shrug off the yawn that reaches my lungs,
and I'll sigh off the dreams that taunt me on home to the
reality that isn't mine
that wasn't mine
but I don't want it to be mine.

I'm a poor sport in a game of tag,
I don't cooperate and I'm running the opposite way.

Does this makes sense?
Hardly.

You, perhaps, aren't awake, are you?
Because I'm feeling dillusional, and I'm thinking I need a safe guide to take me back to the beginning of this reoccurring sixty minute cylce that I'm repeating
reapeating
repeating.

You, perhaps, aren't awake are you?

I need some reassurance, and it's gnawing at my stomach.

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