Storm Shelter

March 16, 2010
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With winter on its way out
You fly into the arms of a broken-boned narcissist.
You open your mind to intrusive little thoughts
Each armed with a rifle, and a microphone

It was his hands that you had tied
During the impromptu war between the worlds
And his cough had been so loud that you couldn’t hear-
Excuse me- You couldn’t hear real life.

Sucking in your last breaths before you sink
Learning to slow your heartbeat, ’til you were seeing spots
You tried to reach the land, but got pulled under
By the wave you had welcomed with open arms.

Now you reach up, and shape the clouds like clay
And stand by the water, throwing in arms and legs.
Severed limbs of the severed ties that you were
Too young to keep, too lazy to nourish, too cold

To remember.

But solid ice will melt,
eventually.

Exposed, and unfrozen,

Then where will you be?





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