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Versurile The Postman Syndrome - Amputees Make Bad Swimmers
Versuri Amputees Make Bad Swimmers
[Chapter I]
What̢۪s with me and stars, gardens, blue light,
and the trees?
Sometimes I feel like Poseidon losing control
over my seas.
Came face to face with God and it left a scratch
on my sanity,
but before I go down I have a feeling I̢۪m
taking you with me.
Now the boat is capsized, vessel smothered,
making it hard to breathe.
Our biggest worries below us, hiding in the water
we cannot see.
Paranoia and curiosity get the best of me.
Turn upside-down and catch a glimpse of what̢۪s
under
but now I cannot see what this means to me.
A fury of stilted speech sparks the tide.
Ride it deep to your muse birth.
Drink it slow.
Taste the undertow of pretension.
The liquid embryo congeals in your throat
when all you take away is that my metaphors blow.
Better to scold than coddle.
Better to drain what follows.
Before the rain unbottles, look at the swill
you̢۪ll swallow.
A lonely road, badly paved and hollow.
Stepped in a hole, fell into a flooded tunnel
before you rowed up,
before you came up shallow,
before you echoed you̢۪d rather drown than
swallow this.
It̢۪s not the same as being afraid to swim
underneath the sea,
and it̢۪s not enough to picture your arms as
limbs of a tree,
but I̢۪ve got you here with me.
I̢۪ve got you, and you can̢۪t leave me.
Push away, crawl away, but you̢۪ll never leave
me.
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