Pt.. 1

A dreamless buzz and the pickle song
ringing silent- in and out of my head.
The tragedies of too young blood
are washing themselves over my hands
while my eyes have turned through fire
and beaches- to glass.

I cannot cry a single tear for them
that will not ring off the floor,
bouncing in its high pitch "ping!"
and scatter into the corner
with the needles and breakfast crumbs
and all the other diamonds
I cast off there before.

I am filling a stagnant ocean-
breathless in its current-
but beautiful by sight.
What am I to do
with all these frozen waves I've made?
Unfit to swim in and
far too priceless to touch.
I am inconsolable.

With each tiny ringing
gems hit the floor
building castings for my ankles
and making me breakable.
My veins are pumping heat
into linoleum- but,
no one here is brave enough
to wade out across these gemstones
and melt these waters by my side.

I am glass on existence and
broken only in my solitude.
I am desolation with her hand on a gun
and wondering who will clean up her messes
after she's gone.
I am still too young to understand
the permanence of anything.

I am to love, and be loved,
and reaching for the buzz
of a message from another world.
I am barely conscious
in my state of old scars
and dreams put straight to rhythm.
Play me a melody and I will dance for you.

I am fire on the streets
emulating the light of the earth
that will illuminate even
the darkest parts of the moon
on the cloudiest of days.