Sticky Slick

We have that sticky slick, David Bowie tight
type of thing,
that stuck in a tar pit, struggling to escape it,
flippin’ over handlebars into pavement pain.
Your poker chip love, unbridled and wild,
sent us into fits while we sat back and smiled.
We played with fire and loved how it burned.
Our charred skin ached but we eagerly yearned
for more of what that flame could offer.
We cut away dead flesh and molded our dreams
into an inescapable, unforgettable, almost attainable reality.
Over the years our thought process slowed
while our fears and regrets continued to grow.
Our faults made us who we are today,
and we’ll continue to cut our flesh away
at the first sign of infection.
Because we have that sticky slick, David Bowie tight
type of thing.
And we may get stuck, and hit the ground hard,
and we may have wounds that are blackened and charred,
but that made us who we are today,
and there’s no way in Hell we’ll throw that away.

by PrettyOdd
posted on 08/29/2008