Mumblings MAG

November 8, 2012
By Anonymous

Pulse pounding
smile and nod,
my ignorance slips past facade.
Of all the bees that bumbled slow, could it be I'm the first to go,
to blue skies too high
I must surmise
that electrocution works solely on the mad,
but I'm not mad enough to dry my hands
and evade the shock that I have planned
for myself, but no one else, sees the manic that I hold in my hands,
that I fold into plans written in paper and pen,
and I can't go through this again,
to stare at orange rinds, wishing not to see my eyes,
mealy sticky sweet, melting in the summer heat,
of stares that don't really care,
but I know they're there,
the glowing moons of owls
that see a mouse and not a bird,
but I have wings I have wings
I whisper all these louder things,
for I know that they're not true,
so I hope no one hears
the rustle of leaves that this fall brings.

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