As I sit on the clouds
My house jumps on the dog
As I wash in the drains
My matchstick enemy blogs
The window lest in filth and garbage
As I laze and watch wooden cutlery tarnish
An invisible anchor weighs me down
It is buried deeply within the couch
As I sit and watch a box of lies
My leghair greys to a faded brown
And I wait
I wait for someone to delete this game of smokes and ladders
With a chair made of toothpicks and a photo album of bloodstone
Their biophotonic emissions stroke faded laghairs
By means of extra sensory perception
I feel your theta range presence,
Your dreamy existence hums to itself
At frequencies of approximately 5.5 Hz - how sweet.
As I sit, I count my age on my phalange-like growths on my extra limbs
I blame no one
I am my own disease
Deranged by the influence of love
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem