words

driving, burning, churning...

spewed forth like a drunk's last meal,
couldn't hold them in much longer,
yet now I wonder, am I stronger
in will, or stench, than I was before?

sickly anunciation,
like the anticipation of precipitation
that doesn't really cleanse,
but rather simply pushes dirt
out of sight, 'neath the bushes,
'neath the grates leading straight
to the sewer

quick little treatment, make it new,
but it's still the same old shit
in the pools, in the streams, in the air...

and the rains come down
like regurgitated emotion,
we revel in the glory of the clouds
outpouring of life, like it's true,
and we wash in the ocean
in the hopes it will help ease the pain

and the only recording
is a few glimmers of pale light
from a screen on the desk
as I pour out my heart

all to get rid of these...

words






they don't even make sense to me,
but I do feel just a little bit better