You sail over the moon like it’s your ocean. You dance over the stars like they’re your stage. You sing to the wildflowers like they’re your friends. You fall on concrete floors like it’s your bed. Cry a single tear every night before the moon expires and collect them in a paper cup that you swallowed 10 years ago. Pour them in a green glass bottle before the sun explodes, fermenting into a crisp, clear wine. You’re so thirsty for friends, for love, for life. So thirsty, you’d swallow anything to get by. Guzzle down your tear drop wine until the bottle cries. It burns like fire even as the moon is exposed. And no one knows, but I guess it will make sense one day. The kind of fire burning at your blood burned it away. You keep a steady hand to show the world that you’re okay, but you shake through the night, blinded by dreams of better days.
written Aug 2008
Despite things constantly changing, it takes some shattering to precipitate change.