Listen to this

"Take My Hand, Not My Picture..."

Twirling my own fingers and tightinigh my core

with images of years spent waiting for

you on the floor.

So many breaths taken in your

spectrum, waiting in an alley

my tounge thumping like a drum.

So many days spent in rivers of weeps

so many moments and trouble

with sleep

Throwing pennies over bridges

writing words that did nothing

anxious, nervous, twitching

risky, careless, slushing.

All because of love

or the thought that it might be discovered

a brand new smell

and brand new covers

And years have sped by 

And epidermall skin has died

a thousand times over

like a broken film clicking 

and clicking

and clicking

The tragic comedy

the heroin an average man

casually strolling below the beat of the earth's heart...

So, songs will soar me back

and small hands catapult to the present

summarized in moments

with lyrics misinterpreted. 

And, I wait.

 "I don't want to take what you can give...
I would rather starve than eat your bread...
I would rather run but I can't walk...
Guess I'll lie alone just like before...
I'll take the vermin's path... oh, and I must refuse your test
A-push me and I will resist... this behavior's not unique
I don't want to hear from those who know...
They can buy, but can't put on my clothes...
I don't want to limp for them to walk...
Never would have known of me before...
I don't want to be held in your debt...
I'll pay it off in blood, let I be wed...
I'm already cut up and half dead...
I'll end up alone like I began...
Everything has chains... absolutely nothing's changed
"Take my hand, not my picture," spilled my tincture"