Static Enemy In Me

Sunday, May 14th, 2017 – 3:43 am

“Static Enemy In Me”

The first clouds moved too fast then. Still still, steal me when I’m almost awake. The blood on my cheeks bake and bounce in your nameless arms. I ran too fast and lost hot, cold and all hold on harm.

Again and again, I played hit and ran side wars on sidewalks that slowed us down and stalked me cold. Blurry children laugh ever after, once upon a tie score, my scars and sleep. I paid and prayed for saving grace, a higher class to kiss the ground and bow less deep.

I chased the fraught and fray further than I ought during day. The highs and lows loved to lay waste to indy tweens. Buzzed and burned by hands my age before most were even weaned.

Then They arrive.

Just on time. Both pulled me each night. Commanding new numbs with nowhere to stand or see, I walk past last lagging light, to twins and needles. No one to stab but me. From then on, we promised to change me for the bedder.

We killed time and sins in foreign lands. In reserves we walked, those pocked and locked by men much more lost to law, a lot like me. White is less right under the brightest lights of half hidden history. I can never run again after today. I was told to sleep and wait while pins needlessly saved us.

Invisible fans faithfully fanned such fires. They still spill red and white and pit black and blue. Just another brick corner to keep their heads down. Dig and gouge and dream and pray and feel and flee and fight and freeze, deep in eyes with fingers, search and play. I finally awoke you two too, to you true awash in blood and loss and songs of solar sleep, my final fate for future days to seize, c’est la vie and say Lovey.

Back there, back where I keep dying to leave Their there, they’re shaking foundations and bricking the air with Their airs and heirs and errors like last doors leading the hells out of there. I reason with Them now and then, when They can hear a friend forging fragile truce. Few days left, runned twain, terrored and mundane. Almost standing on my own, I’ll bow out soon, boasting such breadth by a boy with shattered feet of clay.

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