Vines in the crackyard

Lost control out there,

Looking out to the sand to find out if it was

Warm enough to hold my bowl of sharpness

That shot into the sky with every jagged word

Words.

Slithered along the vines, wrenched tight into a fist

Black and blue with shouts of the words

Black like the harshness of the piano in my earphones

Blue like the resounding voice that rode on the desert of balding lies

Jet-black against the noise that echoed

Forming into a spectre I didn't want to see

Igniting into the hysteria of creepers shooting hollow into the sound

Empty of adrenaline smoking into the smoke to breathe in the dead

Of the vines in the crackyard

Careless, obvious to the effortless mistakes

Stretched hard into the dark, dark, dark filthy skyline

Torn into the papers that drew back walking out,

Walking out

Every footstep grimacing into the beautiful pain

That I was supposed to feel and I didn't

Until I lost control

Again

Just to see if the sand was warm enough

To hold my bowl of sharpness