Dying

Waste me not in thinking keep those doors closed for traveling for arriving is best left for the conductor I am not where the wind is blowing I am with yOu instead I am not where breath takes a break I am here.this day is grey and dressed for the ball my life is cold in company,colored walls talk of existing behind the line yelling in
the protest of love missed,formality 
is but a word hanging on a lapel 
and suits are graffiti 
covered.windows see to another
world belonging to this one yet we 
look to far for reaching we stand 
to close to the fire.empty me for I 
am full of me fill me with nothing 
inside track my whereabouts to 
behind the shed where holding a 
book is seen in this movie and your 
popcorn has spilt.buildings converse 
with trees standing guard cars 
shouting get a haircut a woman
stares out from her hospital 
bed.this is not silence this is quiet 
rated or lip syncing to the tune of 
a vagabond,money streamed 
consciousness speeds along tracks 
of a squandered life comes to a 
halt in a purple purse.now arriving 
at a station foiled by the pleasure of a 
sick dog stolen by the word and 
disappearing.thick in this milkshake of flavorless screaming filled with camoflauged skin itching and dying again.

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