There is reverie in the sound it makes as it touches the felt.
Resounding truth that turns my equilibrium with two right hands and three left feet.
Its more than impassioned smallness, its a reminder that pangs against tin houses and washes away clay doorways.
Its the rain, it pours down from the single cup into oceans of high tides.
I'm swept thoroughly, pulled under into barrel rolls, rip tides shore me asunder.
I'm turned into a raw pittance.
Skin barely holding together, strung up towards the last mast, my veins become the ropes that tie everything together.
My nervous system sinks to the boughs of this vessel and is entwined with barnacles from journeys past.
Big toes tied to anchors, casted in iron and initials written of my own, finished in dried sputum and platelets to clot the sores.
We're taking on water, shoveling crocodile tears from a dreadnought, I once again watch us sink.
And I remember, this cup never runs over.
I pour into cups with holes at the bottom.
My hands tremble as the I watch the cup fill and exasperate as its drivel turns into a spew.
There is no gauze to close this, no suture for ceramic, no adhesive to survive this wound. I'm hung by my own tourniquet.
So I will let my heart continue to bleed into this cup, I will slather the sails of this ship in hemoglobin.
And I will pray to the furnace below.
Please relight my flame, turn my spark into lightning, adjust the voltage to above what they give the chair, and set sail for home.
gamechangershow
amandla
titsay
jimmyeatworldofficial
yousharknotpass
