SharkFinGirl
Joined: 17 Feb 2008
Posts: 20
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::DRY::
my mouth is parched
from hours of underlying thirst
cause im not the first
from this oasis of conversation
to the ease of this starving stomach-ach
this mirage of default consolation
and as it quenches this rocky sand gut
ceaseing my words to strut
it leaves my esophagus parched
grappling against my tongue
and my breath is arched
Begging for a drop of sweat to flow down
to trickle down the throat of my arm
to these digits of ringing voices. i hold.
while she raises the alarm
Begging for you to slow down
there will be no trickle girl
i flow
plentiful amounts of fickle words to bend and curl
no flinch of my eye
no thump thump in my ears
no moment to lick my lips. as i trust to lie...
perhaps this beep of a lost battery
will be the hang up of my god damn reality
that boop of another text
or that yawn that means shes going to bed
i'll wait up and watch some x-effects
but before you go...
make my air moist with the peak of sunrise
like you do when i say
"i will stay up"
before i can say no...
in this desert of maybe--it could be--perhaps
(this might just be) an
effed up circumstance
when the thought of your eight month gone face
take the place of sleepy eyes
and the sound of your eight minute gone voice
Drowns out any lullabies
but how can this girl give in to the wake
this quicksand of a story of severe heart-break
remind me of Artax who the swamp of sadness now contain
Atreyu lost him in the quicksand such named
this never-ending story is all up to choice
i'll be your Atreyu if you'll follow my voice.
Fortune is a fault line and im vexed by the quake
Quicksand is a metaphor and i never really sank
ill stay in the sand granted your sleeping breath be my wind
cause for you i would never set on eyes on
the sea of possibilities
again
and if dehydration be my salvation
i will put down my pen.
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