Shedding, and Other Forms of Public Indecency
Oh to be reborn, if such could ever happen
But this function-less form is conceptually demeaning
Yet this nagging itch persists its scratch-proof crawl
It's wending, winding list, this wishing for a claw
Instead of limbless pith, flip wisdom for your height
No point in being lithe when everything is out of reach.
Oh that I could shed these scales and tails for nails,
Escape the shrieks and wails of everyone that sees my face
Erase the shame of slithering and hold my head of high
Without every being withering, thinking they're about to die.
Hoping for a vaccination to cure this dust and dirt disease
Wishing for a new creation to come breaking forth inside of me
Found a spot, a jagged rock, to pierce the dying scales
Lie and wait for night to block my image of myself
I wonder again, can I shed my skin, this iteration's wearing thin
Maybe another one will soon begin, if I could only shed these fangs.
Black Light
All this incessant click clicketty click clicking
Keeps interfering with my intercessant ticking
Of items off my "have God do" list
All these pointedly pointing pointers, I wish
Would stop clicking on what ticks me off
Then firing pointedly back on me.
A seizure in the neon lights
A seizure of our basic rights
By our own desires for liberty.
Amid these flash, flashy, flashing lights
You come as a thief in the night
Because everything bright has gone wrong
And everything right is long gone.
And the faces are flashing with novelty's packing
The prizes for which we've all longed
As the website's hit counter rolls on
And insight is left drinking alone
Thinking alone,
Common sense left and never came home
Got lost in a luminous screen.
Maybe You've come back unseen
Cause we'd all been blinded by bright, shiny things.
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