My hands emerge from the shallows
I see my fingers as if attached to someone else
They stretch outward and upward like antlers impaling a body
but I don’t know
why….
Under some sort of spell
I then float through the stream
Face down
Waiting for the fish to hear my voice
But I didn’t realize download speeds
Were slower underwater
A lethal choice
My palms drip with a slimy mess when I try to get to the bottom of it
And I hate the feeling of the stuff
I grew a bumpy, colorless, uncooked shell that nothing could split
And I built some prickly antennae so I could be gruff
If something resembling feeling were approaching
I wanted such debris to slide away from me
But boys can be too quick to give up on dreaming
So I found myself grabbing at the colors that look content just to be
The color that seems the easiest to grab is gray
As I lay in the cool blue passageway that floats me through my condition
I see the clouds that always follow and bring me shade
Powdered sugar shakers that whisper of loss as initiation
I now seek the light from the stars hidden behind them
That will me to feel their warmth after seeing where the coldest ice may fall from
If one could stick their fingers into the gray matter of another’s head
Would we understand how it feels to be in their mind?
Some of us in moments of weakness really just wish to forget
But do the Dementia-tic feel they were done a kind-
ness?
