bits of broken thoughts....

~.~
The world is very busy with itself
So many parts, churning,
grinding, maneuvering around each other
through and against each other.
Burying the meaning in mindlessness.

~06.09.11~
My dreams eat at me.

It's in the faded parts
of shadow dream memories
that I see.
I see the pit of the fruit
I wasn’t supposed to eat.
Slick with juice,
Soft and bruised,
Colors pulsing,
flavors shifting,
the fruit turning to dirt
then dust
on my tongue
The rot consumes,
spreading,
decaying.
I consume the fruits
borne of twisted stories
in a mind
that eats at itself on the inside.