the kid who saw the devil, his soul was plastic

October 6, 2012

the night is falling and
i hear the sound of his footsteps
outstretched and near breaking point
darkness seeps beneath my skin
nothing means anything
we’ll fall in a well in the end
so let’s go smoke city fumes
crawl behind pigeons on the pavement
stare at lights turning green yellow red
we’re twisted beneath delightful wrappers
so dig in and we will scratch against your tongue

misty eyed and woe-full,
we sleep-walk through the forest in your mind
never questioning the hungry ghosts on your back
my my we cherish money in your pocket and
holes in your soul
but in the end we’ll all fall in the well
so go easy as you drink the midnight sky
the clouds you wear on your feet will not last
sweep tears from angels’ cheeks while you still can

what seemed like a flight will turn into a fall
like a stone launching in the air
may come to know that it only flies when it’s thrown
nothing means much
when you’re on the ground

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