My eyes shed
The skin of the last day spent
They fall on the bed
Like petals from a rose
And I see their clear, wrinkly pale whiteness
Their blueness from the cornea beseeches me
And these new ones, how they prickle like thorns!
How they feel like my body will slip away
Visions come to me, so quick on their little blurry feet
I cannot see the apparitions
Of the people long gone past
My brain fries
On the pan that my head makes
Cooking for the early morning brunch
(it’s definition of brunch is very different compared to us who have sense)
The hours slip on by
2, 3, 4, 5
I can only count until the moment I die
The deep sea mariner
Wants to swim in the ocean blue sky
Of the early morning that rises
While I lie awake
Wondering when my skin will grow feathers
And I will fly from my coop, piled with white black birdshit
And I will be away, to the land where my eyes
Can’t pick up any of the electrical shocks
It gets day after day
2, 3, 4, 5
And then for 2 I am safe
Then the cycle repeats
Then my eyes shed, yet again