Wednesday, 22 June 2011

Balcony Scene

Let the steel burn my hand as I shall feel the keyboard and the teapot upon the face, as I shall wonder about a fall as I shall see a smanb, the same man with the teapot on the edge of a hill he moight’ve eaten with his head as he covers his face, his mouth wqith the lack of time and a beard as he sal;l fall inside the greass, for the bones to jingle and migle in a dance, as the nblood shall scatred to feed the birds wirh the fear and the lack of deszcripiuon, as I shall describe it upon the eras ans people won’t see the teapot hanging in the air as I shall lure it closer with Radoiohead louder as the misatlkes shall be made with the coggareets fiddled,m the ends chopped off and the light turning off and on, the insecureance and the thought of driving and homosexuality upo n the hetrero as a tongue would linger in the mouth with hands cupping beast and lips upon te neck, as I shall be torn to the balcony, the skin a plasticine ads I shall keep noticing the fall, the monet when the feet no longer toiuch the ground butr reather the toes hold the posibilllittty of deathj and tyou stiull hesiutate abooouuut it, as if there mighhhttt be a fear that you’ll never fddie and never see the door to eternity, as the door semms to be opneded and irritating thaaat you swaakloow





This was written under another laptop, it was cold outside and I looked at the hill which was formed due the parking lot and it had been quite cold and I honestly didn't care about the typos and the short story was written during the length of Radiohead's Spinning Plates.


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