Coal Walker.

entrancing. it seems we're
balancing on broken shards of heartless.
moments. and I want to scream at myself
to throw away all of my .shit.
and start _living.

-

I'm hell bent {on being heaven sent}

-

so I spend minutes mixing verbs and phrases
with lead based figure eights and aces
like the hands of a dead man- when poker faces
trains head on. off the rails.

and my fingers trail like cherokee song
in language more dead than the dance
your eyes cast a glance at.
and in closing.
it's easy to fake falling apart.
so I feel like throwing away all of my shit.
and forgetting what living feels like.
so I can be text.
on this screen.
and tomorrow

I'll treat heaven like a sheet of paper
say to hell with feeling alive
and burn that son of a bitch
to the ground.