It's half past dusk when I close my eyes,
ten till sanity when I open my mind.
I'm in the ocean, littered with lies,
toes in the coral, they dig, they grind.

I arch my neck and watch the stars banefully burn.

I think they burn in me too; somewhere
behind my lungs, or beneath my belt,
they smolder. I strain and try to care,
to feel the heat before I melt.

I can feel hellfire warm my palms.

The galaxies flitter on my skin,
strewn across the top of decay
blurred with constellations that spin,
and in comet-tailed whispers I hear them say

"I'd like to help you. I think I could.

But my body is busy taking down my mind
and my darling, my dear, I'm sorry,
but you're just going to have to wait."

The stars have burned from the inside out
and I fall to meet the aquatic embrace.
I'm a run down adjective finding a route
like a ship tossed along in a race.

I'm carried along to the tides songs.

My flesh has burned into glass--
and my pride, smoldered notes.
The message I bear won't last;
my inked up words might bloat.

Another crack in a spiderweb shatter.

The message inside my torso-bottle
is thrown upon the sand,
unraveling upon seaweed, mottled,
the bled out words on paper read aloud

"I'd like to liberate you. I think I could.

But your ripples have torn apart the Earth
and my friend, my love, I'm sorry,
but you're just going to have to wait."

The poem written in faded ink became
a fable told through the mouth of a mute.
This lesson seen as a game;
the final score is done, absolute.

I've lost my meaning, my moral, and muse.

Can you see past the plastic,
or do you taste the rusted bars?
You make it seem dramatic
but reality is not far.

The clock strikes a quarter to change.

The dregs of my hope are ripped
off of my bruised and battered tongue.
I set them free, my own faith stripped,
and they blot out the sun as you hear them sigh

"I'd like to rescue you. I think I could.
But I can't bridge the gap of heaven and earth
and my child, my sweet, I'm sorry,
but you're just going to have to save yourself."