aikoxx

you packed your old suitcase full of pink roses and set out to find where the crickets sleep using the moon beams through tree branches to guide you. you wanted to lay your head in the grass tangle your hair in the sedge and have music surround you from every unmeasured inch of earth that equals the outdoors. you wanted to press your fingers into the top soil and bottom soil while it was still cool and kept its fresh sunset taste. you said everyone's dreams were caught on angel hair- [a prettier name for spider webs] that silvery thread that floats on the wind and sticks to your face. i didn't believe you, but i could see

Beautifully burnt tinderbox boy - he returns his top-hat to the coat rack, never once touching his sore, red scars. He cries out for socialism to take his shoe-shine hands to a lump of coal. He doesn't need pushing, just pulling. Full of fear, he can sleep, shivering. More than once, a bloated fist has drawn blood; drawn him out of restless solitude. Not the sort of company you'd keep. You've learnt to shine your own shoes, to avoid even a chance meeting.  Cold, cruel world. Hardly.  Pull another tooth, will you? The fairy doesn't come down these alleys - This is where they bring people to die. Bad-blood.  Grudges are cleared