Drawings of Scorpions I've weathered that storm.
I'll take all those notes back fill up my tent with them I am not planning to stay here.
I can't hold all these scorpion tails anymore.
I can't even see my eyes.
I put my hands out in front of me I cannot feel my fingers I cannot not dance I cannot remember the melody.
Was there one? I draw my own tail.
I bite it and it feels like nothing.
I am a gothic sacrifice.
A gothic poem set on a dark artist's canvas.
I turned around to see the rivers the ones that turned to ice? I swear I saw people through the glass.
I met that dog again being careless walking over graves of saints that wished they could have been sailors knowing great adventures and discoveries.
The dog knew.
Did I mention I am leaving? I have no coat or money I only have my pens.
I will write to you when I find what I am painting.
I thought it would be gentle this love this tide pool of little creatures that pretend to be my friends.
They don't even know me.
Stupid I know.
Who would trust a dream? The greater sacrifice was when I stopped noticing my own drawings.
No guilt though why would you feel it? It is my lack of bleeding that is more to blame.
I got in line for free targets became hysterical while waiting I thought that I would never stop laughing.
I did afree obituary search I was not on the list! How funny don't you find that to be so funny? Back to my drawings of scorpions my astrology friend back to Scorpio and the tail, the tales and semblance of truth.
I am just having a hard day it is the artist in me.
No, I am not leaving.