Fingertips

I'm thinking in Shakespeare and Austin and $.10 bargain books.
I'm hearing in black and blue and purple.
I'm tasting cold coffee and cold looks.
I'm wanting someone more than he's wanting me, or, maybe,
I'm just wanting something which I've never had.
I'm trying to find you.
I'm wishing I knew what you were.
I'm fighting over voices and failing to be heard.
I'm wondering if this keyboard says everything or nothing.
I'm writing in confusion with icy fingertips in circles.
I'm eating my words.
I'm seeing my verbs.
I'm smelling my adjectives.
I'm missing my subjects.
I'm overusing my gerunds.
I'm changing my formula.
I'm stepping out of my norm, but
I'm staying exactly the same without moving a bit.
I'm hoping for a chance.
I'm fooling only myself.

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^ Also not a homework assignment. ^

Again, I don't know. Random lines, little connection. It is what it is.


So the white tooth man with his kids in the car and a wad of money that was already spent said, “I love my dog but she just ran away; she’ll keep running like the world never ends.” Iron And Wine White Tooth Man