open & trusting
paint me silverburst, from my head down to my heels. make of me your figurine. i will follow willingly. i am the gasping, wooden hearted. gripping tightly to the sheets. shedding here my scales of wax and cotton. i am he, your effigy.

leaving
paint creeps sneaks slithers up the wall, joined in motion with the clocks and picture frames, followed closely by my withered vision. the darkened patterns on the carpeting are receding deeper than their brighter cousins, forming tiny static mountain ranges of fabric lint. the sneaking paint's not fooling me at all. it knows that i am watching. i alone fall witness to it's noiseless gesticulations.
the world spun round in cyclic madness as my blood draws the toxins deeper through my vessel. soon it would fade out and things would be better. without one erratic undeserving man throwing bricks out of the windows of his mind. stumbling dazed and out of focus.
the trees are waving goodbye. they bow low enough to kiss the grass and swoop back to wipe away the clouds. to me they seem salt-fed egotists. one-track minded aristocrats with green-powdered wigs and brown petticoats. the water's waves are more inviting, just a few more steps ahead. black-eyed angels diving into air to resurface beneath the waves. their waves are momentary towers dripping wet. growing cresting caving in upon themselves in one magnificently fluid and complete ground zero. ground h20.
i fall down and meet the ground again, now wooden and reeking of salt and fish. the ground is fickle, self absorbed. always changing to suit its mood. the legs of my vessel will carry me no further, so this is where i'll end. my friends and lovers call out to me, as they have since the beginning. they are with me. my pasts. my futures are here. my vessel, now my rowboat. off to find Heaven.