itch

itch

I can feel the itch'n

Man, itchn,

Itchn in my gums.

 

Footsteps echo through

 the empty corners  of my head

 

I dream but my wheels aren't 

turning on their own.

 

 

I don't breathe when I'm wrapped in the night

I can't see during the day

The sunlight radiates rhythmic pulses into my palms

And speaks to me through sonar

 

I hear voices...

Staggering down the

Vacated hallway of my conscious

Wearing barbed wire shoulder pads

While planting their

feet on hot coals

Voices… that call to me.

My stained glass vision warps and bends

the perceptions and comprehensions 

And I'm speaking in tongues

 

As flimsy limbed clocks go limp and stop counting

The minutes We waste in this padded room.

The sleeves of my shirt embrace

each other on the small of my back

pinning our palms to opposing elbows

 

 over hollowed out embodiments

 of my past run through our heart

and bring sovereign to our actions.

 

I remember my last night, Mind bending pills caped with

Cashed out bowls left ash that sent smoke signals

to the far away places in my mind

I started to walk…

 

The shifting sidewalk in-front of me coiled

and sprawled like a boa-constrictor 

As mimes leapt to the  rooftops and sang out what

was left of their souls to let the world hear their voice.

The footsteps of hushed voices left freckles of existence

scattered across the shoreline of my mind

 

Now, I can't stop breathing

I can see it, man

I can see it all

Letting go of the strings that hold me down

I'm a real boy now

And I can see the world,

See the world for what it is

Dangling from a noose

Spinning out of control

Like a yoyo that's lost its funk….

 

 

We pluck planets from the sky and rename them as large rocks,

as though they were ants under a magnifying glass.

Carving our initials into the earth and calling dibsies on the moon.

 

So they locked us up,

for opening our eyes

 

For hanging off of Saturn's rings

 while licking mercury

from the exiled fingertips of Pluto.

 

For being an addicted

Crawling in Caucasian asphalt

While burying my head into candy sand

In an attempt to press my palms

Against the sky.

 

For hearing voices

And being brave enough to listen.

 

For interrupting their game of playing god,

 

playing... as if it were some kind of a game.

 

 

Now were left in here, see sawing on the brink of existence

 

left to rot, as our bedposts unravel and we drift through time and space.

 

Left in here to grow tired...to gently close my eyes

Left in here to feel my gums itch.