Bottom-Ash

Bottom-Ash

Lately I've been lighting matches to watch them burn.
Tossing the brightened flint, into a dead aunt's urn.
And the ash and smoke tango - it's a salsa dance.
As the pages turn, I can't differentiate the ash.

I run my hands through the sand
And the pebbles grasp me yelling and,
I can't help what I feel
As I lay with the land.

Now my fingers, grey
She's yelling at me to stay-
But I can't figure out the clasps
On her lingerie.

I run my hands through the sand
And the pebbles grasp me yelling,
"What's your deal,
What do you feel?"

And I'm dead leaves
clinging to a tree
that wants nothing
to do with me.

And I don't know if the cold's what makes me shutter and
I don't know if I can hide it from my mother and
I don't know if I will ever fix this stutter and
I don't know if I'll be able to ever love again.

I run my hands through the sand
And the pebbles grasp me yelling and
I can't make out a single word they're saying.

-----

So I use my hands to remove the sand,
And the pebbles blow away in the wind and
Fly up into the sky and it begins
To rain from my face, for the first time in years
This drought has ended, through an aqua veneer

And the sand on my hands,
Washed away
The pebbles rinsed into the earth,
Where they should stay.

But still,
I don't think I'll ever love again.