Black and White

Nothing makes my heart so wild as being

In possession of a potent night

Racing down the stairs in a nude descension

Shedding and discarding my hide

But the bold strokes crack so quickly

And it's often that I wonder why

Dripping at the slow-motion rate of surrender

Hanging to my bones as they dry

How can I want something more than a new hell in which to fry

When I see in mostly black and white?

There's a sinful sort of side of being

So contained, a bit like being lost

Stumbling through the background like a small town loner

Quietly a-whisperin' my thoughts

Into my cupped hands, folded and monk-like

At least that's what I've always said

How does writing letters from the lonely margins

Feel when there is no hair on my head?

Is the solitude I seek a trap where I've been blindly led?

Tell me, where then do I go instead?

When atonement comes in distant waves

I might wait until the next to break

Choking through forgiveness at a sunfly prompter

Staring through the back of my face

Its a vulgar, hidden part of being

Tethered to the world right now

Spending all my dollars to remain a member

Nothing in my eyes but a scowl

Do I bother to define myself beyond what they allow?

Have I already forgotten how?