Wednesday, August 14, 2013

Cashed Out

I kiss myself on the bicep as I sit
listening to songs that sound of your 
smile. Admittedly, I don't know who 
you are, but like god I hold out hope that you
exist. Both do not. Still, it's nice to grab
onto a ledge while drifting down - even if that ledge
only resides in my mind, with eyes closed dreaming 
all the dreams that one can dream before the pavement
steals them away. My future is not you. My future is not
god. My future is that of a distant residue on a sidewalk
that might be mistaken for a bloody nose, spilled Slush, or
a painful defecation. All would be somewhat true and you'll 
walk right over me never having known about how I liked
to kiss my own bicep knowing that one day you'd grind your 
heel into me with all the affection of a single, hurried
step.

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