life used to have clear cut corners
and it was colored-in proper,
with familiar shapes
and a brick road with our deaths
at the end of it.
then you fucked it up,
and now i’m walking in a fog;
the colors have smudged into blacks and greys,
the lack feels great,
i have no interest in what’s in front of me.
the road to death is growing closer.
i’ll start jogging,
maybe i’ll run into someone special,
or maybe i’ll fall into a hole
that smells like bitter beers
and back aches.
maybe the hole’s so deep
that my back breaks,
and i have to get used to looking up
instead of looking at what’s ahead of me.
i’ve been walking towards death all this time,
but when i look up all i see is life.
no one’s ever told me i couldn’t fly
and if they ever did,
i’m sure they’d just want someone
to hold their hand while they
walked on fog-patterned bricks
life used to have clear cut corners,
then you fucked it up
and now i can fly.
“clear cut corners”