Thursday, June 9, 2011

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.

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,
I consume the fruits
borne of twisted stories
in a mind
that eats at itself on the inside.

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