So come home,
Where your skinny childhood friend pulls his sleeves to reveal
A lattice of deep blue strands spreading forth
From a single bulging point, an eye of something unreal
Pulsating with a slow jog
In-between forced breathing and coughs he mutters
Never again
With this specific trip, but with a smile, otherwise
We are all good
We’re cool
We’re smooth
We’re gliding on thin air
We’re laughing at floating things at two in the morning
Outside my home wondering how hard we could we laugh before
We woke up my mother and then seeing us so untangled
Unblurred
Whereas I’m hoping she wont see
She remains oblivious to the obvious
Me afraid, slowly expanding into tinted layers of something
Taking up more and more space and more and more weight
There is no color here
Where we are engrossed by the very chase
Of the daydreams of our youth
By our own poor choice of chemical subsitutes
Eating away at your edges
Hoping to soften yourself up, finding the innocent core
All the more confused and broken and discarded
So come home
Where former athlete sprinters lay stagnant on the monobloc chair
Their human form barely able to hold in their waste
Making rude comments to anyone passing, enraged
That he was so unceremoniously spat out
Asking how are you
To which you reply; okay
To which you say; you look great
To which you ask;
looks like you finally chased down what you were running after
You’ve settled
And you hope he takes it with a smile
So see the seething anger in the edges of his lips
We’re good
We’re okay
We are not inverted triangles
Starting off with so many pregnant permutations
Fading off into an obscure point
We choose our ride
And we choose well
We are not consumed
By the unlit, unused walkways
By the laughter and the sadness we paid for later
By the advancement loan
We do not feel regret
We move on
Where the street you grew up in
That left that gnarled mess of your knees when you tripped
While playing something you cannot play anymore
Is under surveillance
To the fullest extent of the law
There is no life nor beauty
There is no grand majesty to this ride
There is no constant kaleidoscopic enlightenment on things unknown
There is no bright fun life after the storm
There is just the surrogate
To whom we impregnate with our pains
Our hopes and dreams and other childish things
Supposedly forgotten but distilled, plucked from our very bodies
Taken into physical form, living on our blood
We grew thin
Emancipated
Smiles stretched across hollow cheeks
Take the distilled, the solid, and relive
You are not the surgeon of your own manufactured hopes and dreams
You are but a paying audience to a trite slightly amusing show
And the price is life
So come home
Where your only responsibility
Are hedonistic present tense wants, never the needs
Never the future, just the now
As sharks hungry for life, shall we then consume ourselves?
Put this on your heavy head, chasing the thin sinewy fume
Burn’t by the traditional rust-tinted candle-flame dancing to the tune
Of your own ragged, forced breathing looking for purchase
In your atrophied lungs, put this on your heavy head
So come home

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