n.i.m.b.u.s.

the grey

can't let the grey skies get to you,
gotta laugh, gotta laugh,

can't let the artificial quicksand get to you,
the more you feel the more it hurts,
thinking is a stabbing pain,
daydreams are a kamikaze plane,
smashing into grey, unmoving cliffs
of the way things are,
and not the way they're supposed to be.

what's got you down?
well i don't know,
the way i'm breathing for starters.

the way my weak chest rises and falls,
expands and contracts,
like a newspaper balloon,
waiting to be popped and crushed,
by twitching hands,
eager to grasp the dagger
on the altar.

what else?
i'll tell you,

the way the world bleeds into my eyes,
the way it all comes flowing in,
my arms, the ground,
the grey, grey sky,
everything i see,
juts out at me,
nothing goes unnoticed,
rusty nails,
holding up my innards,
making the clothes in the washing machine
all blur into grey,

there's that hole,
grey and empty,
the soundless invitation,
the welcome mat
that doesn't quite say 'welcome',
no,
that's a different word.

the familiar, broken
organ pipe,
starts playing itself,
playing all the notes at once,
howling pipes,
channel all the icy dread
into my bulging veins.

it's time to steal the altar's knife,
and let the grey flow in rivers,
let if come out of my mouth,
and out from my arms,
let it flood my eyes,
let it come.