OverStimulation////////////////

OverStimulation////////////////

Monday, May 16, 2016

Sky tide



Broken glass is washing upon the shore.
It's so small you can hardly tell.
It's all purple and blue and green and gold,
                                                                    like easter eggs.

I lie here in the wake of the sea,
and blood washes away from me
and my little cuts,
but salt water is good for that,
you know?

I am awash in colors.
I am them and they are me.
We are flower pedals in the wind together,
beneath the screaming, weeping sky.

These memories wash over me with the colors:

1.)  I was frightened by my own footsteps as I walked over frozen oak leaves.

2.) I crashed my boat into an abandoned lighthouse.

3.) I was roommates with the flies, roaches and rats of the city.

4.) One time, I traced the breadcrumbs to find myself here.

And I decided knowledge is stitches on a jackolantern.
Money is extra ashes on a tomb.

It’s all pink, all purple, all gold, and all blue
when it washes around me,
the waves.

The waves that wash over me are lovely.

The tide looks like broken glass,
but it's diamonds,
and when it cuts me, it's not all that bad,
I just bleed a few words.