skittlebitt

Fingers follow tracks across my scalp, changing tack with turns in their terrain. A hand to hold would surely help. Soothing strokes could calm a worried brain lurching gently through the grain. Her presence on this passing train evokes a longing in the lonely. Invisible, I feel resigned. A moving thought might come if only her breath should touch my mind. I wonder what I came to find and what this trip is worth. Breakfast for her can't be bought with money buried in the berth and languages yet to be taught. Empty eyes reflect a seat with naught a vagrant on his own could face. A lap would likely work the best to manage some, the negati

I walk a new road every day and strive to not be weak. The blind must find their way, the numb must watch them seek     and surely stumble. With envy, though, of hearts that leak instead of skulls that crumble. If I were truly humble I could be honest from the start,     or even mumble 'it's a dry and cracking art'. Just more paper mache to plaster around my heart and keep the feelings locked away.

If I close my eyes just right, tight enough to let in barely any light, might I see how skies are stitched together? Whether they just decorate like halos or a feather or truly tether Earth to heaven, under the stars and over the weather. If we find my sight is true, who can say I'll ever recognize the glue you say I have to trust will hold? Told be truth, I don't believe I recall the taste of gold, folded as it was between the jade and every other pretty plastic sold.

With my mop I paint the world another shade of the same. I feel no shame for the rising sun nor heat from the ebbing flame. I'm sick of all the needless pain on this silly, spoiled planet and when I plan, I plan to leave it no different from when I came. My shell can fade and crumble once my ghost has passed and passing last will be my deeds, my words, my face, my name.

Most likely you'll have the cow and I the chicken will do all the eating out until dessert comes from under the carpet.

The heat from her eyes blows her hair back while frustration curls mine. I settle deeper than the seat allows, my air guitar filling the car with false tunes until our tension snaps all the strings.

        That hollow log is such a hog. It can pretend to be a pot in which imagination brews. Whatever children use it for, it makes everyone ignore        this stack of tires by the shed.        That tire pile gets every smile. It can be pulled apart at will and used to race around the world. I'm confident enough to bet it will make all the kids forget        this poor puddle near the road.        That puddle of muck gets all the luck. It floats the boats of boys and girls and is a haven for the frogs. It cools the feet of kids at play but draws all the attention away        from

It's finally here, the end of days. We wait all week for the sun to retire so we can celebrate the nights with music, food and turn of phrase. The curtains taste like fruit on fire and hang thick around the lights, casting ultraviolet rays. While Chance rides rockets, ever higher Sparks dance for our delight and Uncle Jimmi's music plays. The men wear chocolate suit attire, the girls sleep but dream of kites, and all are lost in purple haze.

The room is freezing. Your feet shuffle through an icy shag to find it barely worth the spark. Snow collects on the TV screen to match the film on the window. You kick this out to watch her leave and listen to the wind rush in, in a rush to speak with your TV static. Your half-hearted hope for advice falls lost among mute voices, speaking with nothing to say. You listen to the roar of rough air, not real wind  but white noise, till her engine dies in the distance.

You and I were different from the very first time we met, kickin' up the straw in the stall of your pony at the county fair. You're used to being bought a drink, I was the first to make you think that not all guys think with their pants, that every girl deserves romance. With all the hoops and highlights, big groups and wild nights, when are you gonna learn that the one who's gonna love you will think you're pretty when you're plain. As good as we were together, as happy as we made each other, you knew you could have more, if not better. You took it without a thought. We took it slow but you were fast, taught to cheat b