‘i will,’ she dreamt
and i'm spinning, arms grasping at the sky, body rocking forwards and backwards,
turning and turning
only because i don't know how to stop anymore.
i'm tired of dreaming with my eyes open.
they say god sits with his legs hanging out
of the hood of my car,
singing at the top of his lungs
as his toes dig lines into the asphalt road
like sticks in sand.
i say it's true
because the man that sits there
smokes colour
until it fills the sky each morning-
but it's only ever blue-
maybe god needs a friend.
so do i.
and now i'm running, a kid in the dark,
chased around a tree
by a shadow
and i can smell him
and he smells like flowers
and teeth.
people tell me:
you are young
so please enjoy it.
don't be reckless.
be careful.
and i will, i will, i will,
i am spinning round myself,
i am a dying flame
and i will.