How I love the unpolished shine,
The burnt out promises
Have always had my name on them.
It takes five hundred days to understand
Then five hundred more before you can stand it.
Flexing at the thought,
I braced for what I brought on myself.
These shelves could only hold so much
And I was held up by the rush
Of whatever was under my feet,
Digging itself out of the ground.
It was a consolation prize,
And an incessant ringing sound.
Bells of warning,
Bells of warming my chest
With the rest of best wishes
Adorned on silver dishes.
It was out on the table,
And cleared.
It made room for the absent,
Or otherwise weird.
Inevitable,
Inedible,
I forced it down.
Into circles,
Circles,
Dizzy-drowned
In the sweetest sugar mixed with lead.
From a dream in which I was already dead,
I finally woke up today...
Those dreams were great,
But far away.
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