Thursday, September 9, 2010


they want to make buttons out of my bones
buttons to place on the ashes of the clothes
this sunken city wears
buttons to keep the denial and hope in
guarded by a wall of concrete so thick and so high
even mama wouldn't be able to tear it down

they want to make dreams out of my skin
dreams to forget the reality that evelops
these worn men and women
dreams that will last for a lifetime
and when we wake up, we will already be
in Lucifer's golden kingdom

they want to make blood out of my lips
blood that will be a reminder of the pain
these babies felt in the wombs of their mothers
blood that will run down the crooked streets
flood everyone's body with tingling sensations of shock
to jolt us into a never-ending limbo

they want to make wreaths out of my hair
wreaths that will creep into the coffins of the living
those so-called living creatures with spiderwebs in their eyes
wreaths that will break open the darkness of this city
with their tendrils of weeds and thorns cracking this hard earth
to bury the fear deep, deep, deep

they want to make sunlight out of my eyes
sunlight that permeates the clouds of flies
those choking, hackneyed monsters
sunlight that will pulverize the sky and ground
and wake us from the horror that we have wrapped ourselves in
to protect ourselves from the truth of our sins.


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