happyfish

Listening for the Coming Storm

Dust –

Coats me in brown

cloth whispers of clean,

They’re lying, they’re lying.

You won’t know the truth.

I wash – but still feel it.

Dust – can’t come off.

Reminding me of summer days

bitter fruits melting

explosions on tongues.

no thing is the same,

a dry gritty feeling (guilt), shapes changed

You breathe it, and dream it;

hallucinations.

Pretend it’s not there

go away, go away

and you have shadows tapping windows

Ravens flying in and telling –

things better left unsaid.

I scream!

If I scratch my skin off,

will I be clean enough for you?

Shed it like a snake, renew –

Nothing’s changed.

I spiral against myself

if you can’t see my head you can’t hurt me.

but you can’t know me either.

The truth is a bitter pill I offer you.

Grasp for it with blinded hands,

Swallow it down with words of anger.

Dust is here, and won’t go away.

Maybe I think it’s better that way.

I sit by the window,

with my soul-hare in blue,

I sit, and wei pray for rain.

I know the thunder is you.

Listening for the Coming Storm (Reply)