A Cross On A Steel Rope
If I lived a thousand years, it wouldn't be enough. To be human, simply human, human simply ain't enough. I was born naked, now I wear clothes. I was born pure, now I wear emotions. What do you wear? A dress, a suit, a ring, a cross on a steel rope around the neck. A weirdness, an obsession, an affliction, black mass of depression? Anyway to move on and start something else.
Listen to the Stones. What a drag it is gettin old. No more party days. No more bending. Old and simple. Simple and broken. But it's a joyous interlude. My extension towards bright eyed awareness. I don't have no thousand years but I've lived thousands. Thousands. Thousands and thousands of moments. Moments of defiance, disgrace and dimension. Anyway I stride, I try. I've been so, so seriously, so taken away. Taken back. Way back and away. Anyway I move on.
I move to survive. Simply survive. As if that is enough or has ever been. I have been less than I need to be in many moments passed. Moments past. Moments pass. Moments passed. I'm waving as I go past. Time stretches me and my thoughts way heavy as they fall in on top of each other. They fall on me. I start to add up. At least I should be adding. Simple subtraction. To subtract can be such a weary, fudgy, fishy, fugly thing. I am less. None the less. I am regardless. But I digress. I move on to a thing.
Am I finished? Maybe I wish. But keep skipping to the end of things. In regards to things unskippable. I skip like a game. Like it's all a fun, funny, fuzzy thing. Can I talk serious? For once about life. I go back. I think back. I lie. I stay safe. In regards to things unsafe. I save myself. Disgrace myself. Outer space myself. For real. I'm real. I'm really gone. I am without. A body. Skin and bones. No nose. But the smell I smell is the burning of pages. Ash. Dust. Distrust, mistrust. Like Wayne I'm not worthy. Not trustworthy. But I'm too fast. The smell, too slow. Till its on me. I grow up and old. Im falling, slip sliding away, far away but too close for comfort. Let me start making sense for you. I'm wasting words. I wasting time. I got nothin but time. Time on my little hands. Soft skin fingertips without a callus. I'm writing here. Excuse me. Hurry up and wait! I'll get lost for myself. But not cause you told me to. I decide when I'm out of decisions. I can make, but anyway, but I learn to care. Skipped cares are recalled. Recall me mad, sad, and dying to live. But anyway. I'll move on wit my bad self.
Settling down is a lot. A lot to ask. A lot of questions. I shall answer with crooked words. Crooked, clever and craZy. When i take I make things mine. I stole you. And from you, I know. I don't wanna know. I want to be settled. I am flailing. I am flowing. Unbecoming like a thousand crazy waves. The foam that settles after the crash. Can I be water? As if i do come from earth. I am dirt. Filthy and less enough to scare. I'm a nightmare. But I dream on and move to.
More things. Over things. Like the wanderer that travels. I go on with my nonsense. Wondering just how much they see. I thought I wasn't hiding. I felt red but I am green with camouflage. The seasons whip around. I'm wiped. Whipped and wiped all around. Can I make it back? Am I out of moves? We'll see.
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