lack of

headshots

the water washed into the ears about two and a half years ago.
since the dry walls and tall buildings in the middle, the sand has settled in the bottom of the skull.
it's packed in with force, and with plants starting to grow.
there's going to be the most magical corral reef exploiting new thoughts in a few more years.
non-sensical bubbles of air float off to the tippy top and burst into the pain of loneliness.
belief in the dreams coming to sit on the head of which lays on a pillow.
something to be true, but only within the waves of the ocean.
gulp, swallow, that blue-tint liquid slides down to congest in the throat and lungs.
how the faint scatters of small spiders eat up the skin all around the spots open.
the taste of pure poison with the flowing blood encased.
the way the skull breaks down and peels off just like paint from those middle building walls.
knocking, rasping sounding off from the top jaw bone.
aching hurt stealing the fine afternoon away.
nibbling coming from the back of the head, far off into the horizon of the still water.
the sun only coming out of the clouds when the bike starts to peddle.
how this inside picturing the outside doesn't even look close to the outside it's in.
it's fake, truly unreal, and yet it is there.
it can be felt.
all that sand and water making the most uncomfortable beach, it's there.
it's sitting and waiting for the skull to finally crack.
for the one lonely bullet of a man to take a rest in it's sandy sea shores.
for its sky to finally open up and let go of all the clouds it has held for too long.
for the sky to break down and show the reality that has never settled in.
for the present moment to finally be lived in.
this old water waits for that big bang.
for life to truly begin.

May 22nd, 2020