Kid sitting at the edge of a dock.
Legs swinging in free fall.
Wood scrapes into his hands.
He thinks that the stars can talk to him.
He thinks they are whispering that they’re his best friends,
And that they want him to
Do even better
Work a little harder
Stay up a little later
Poor kid doesn’t understand
He’s killing himself on accident
The sun is pink, and the sky is green on the day that I am standing knee deep in perfectly still salt water. The tired marble floor of heaven is finally dissolving beneath my feet.
I looked up at the statue, and it looked down at me.
There we stood, unhappy wretches.
If we get scared, they have us in their pockets.
If we don't, all they have is blood.
And blood is not a weapon.
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