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like wildfire 9:02 p.m. 2004-10-07 In the reflection of your sixteen year old imposal of direlect impressionistic self portraits i am utterly useless. Metaphorically speaking, i am the sky and this sun is setting. And when you have no structure to lean on what do u do when you get the feeling that everything is crumbling right behind you? Risk turning back and you might be greeted by the smiling ruin of your life strewn across these stones in a proclamation of prophetic forks of lightening. And this fire lights the sky in shades of crimson and a pale rosecolored cloud is some kind omen. Walk these streets well past midnight, hope they don't see you spraying blood on the parkway that stretchs on for miles. Haunt me like a ghost of a girl i once loved because nothing else will make me take notice because this concret sliding beneath my feet is so enticing. These candles are lighting the walls that used to be covered in pictures of you. And in the whitewashed silence a pulse is pounding and i'm praying its not my own. Your lyrical genius was synonomous with the knives you traced your lyrics with because your pain was never so eloquent before. In grains of sand a strand of your hair could mean something wonderful and who's to say your next step won't set you on the way to something wonderful. And who's to say that you aren't waiting in the dark, hand on the stickshift waiting for me to cross. Set foot on this pavement and you could send me straight to the sterile halls that would pull the plug.... he died at nine eleven tonight back & forth |