Fish out of Water

Mouth of bullets, mind of glass,
Waiting for a ricochet,
To blow his tired world away,
Leave more room for him to play,
Colours fading into grey.
No dreams, just schemes,
Battered ideals of a nattering chip shop logic,
No flavour, imagination or magic.
Staring at the salt shaker,
Came without a receipt from his maker.
Sinking sand, hovering invisible hand,
Achieved none of the things he never planned.
Nothing to aim for, padlocks on every door.
Dusty rooms and forgotten tombs,
Talking to himself again,
About past injustices and pain.
No where to hide from the thorn in his side,
His mind screams and wriggles,
Like he’s in the middle of a gigantic riddle.
Crucifixions and contradictions.
A foreboding feeling lingers,
As the truth slips through his butter fingers.
Running head long into a wall,
He slips on the ball and gets ready for the fall.
He’s a hopeless case such a shame,
If only he knew we are all the same.
Everyone has an inner voice,
Everyone is presented with a choice,
Everyone has demons,
So don’t feed them with reasons,
And after it all it doesn’t matter what’s said and done,
Only what we become.

by simon
posted on 07/03/2008