There's a bottle with your name on it. A liquid fill of words to follow your mouth. The glass is scuplted to fit your hand like a delicate shawl to fancy you away. Away to where children play on merry go rounds; spinning and turning and nothing more then a blur of tornado vision and then a big twirl to the ground. You thump to the dirt and watch the sky turn into ten. Ten, the number of times you lost yourself with sips of love burning down to your lungs, heart, and finally your stomach. where it sits and boils turning your body into a pot of bubbling sweat. Your skin becomes damp and hollow like your chest that your trying to fill with buckets and buckets. Your eyes being to mimic of every thought waiting around in your head. A mind filled with robin hood and thieves or some sort of adventure like Huckleberry Finn.anything to take you away from here. from the stool you sit upon and the crowds of foes. One of them must be made of skin, a skinlike yours, Thick. Thick like a wall of stone. making it even harder to reach. who would make such a big wall with out something grand to protect?, you ask. grand as in rare and rare as is in like a 4 leaf clover.
a clover for luck with 4 sides of wishes waiting to be captured by the wims of your hopes, dreams even. dreams never dare to impress the minds of those with straws embeded in their heads.
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