here I sit, high again.
Letting time float by again.
Saying "this is the last one" and when
did it ever begin?
When did I let the cement pour in?
How did I let it take hold? with what does it fill my mold and why under the sky is there no will that can go boldly where no mind has flown?
No kisses blown in glass could match the shatter of the match that sparks the fire in the chest that seems to beat for nothing less than the best of my being.
Yet for fear of seeing, for fear of becoming fully empowered, i blur my vision.
Is that a field or single flowers?
Is it real or Babyl's towers?
Is this life nothing but a shower in our day to day ritual?
Are even my friends habitual?
If I exposed my truest mouth would their love remain continual?
I see nothing spiritual in a cave on a mountain.
alone and enlightened.
friends only with the fountain of youth.
Without draining my veins of their truth, I'd like to grow branches, I'd like to grow roots!
I'd like to make floors where I once thought were roofs!
I'm done with dead evidence,
Make me living proof!
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