Road Back Confines Conversing In-Coma Healing Steps Block Bed Frame Childrencredit

Untilted

Untitled

So on the road back home I read copies of the initial reports. The originals are saved somewhere deep within the confines of my backwater computer. His children first came to me with stories of their father's words and other less-than-thrilling events. But upon meeting him, and his frail frame laid across the hospital bed, I knelt down and prayed. His prophetic words seethed through my callus driving thoughts of seclusion. Only here to collect and spread word of his conversing in-coma, I now kneel and pray.
Block by block, built in my mind was a barrier keeping the world out. And now with a few words they come down and push me into coma. I kneel and pray on the healing steps of this white building. I kneel and pray for forgiveness and a way out of the bleak world of coma.

Tilting Toward

Go where people sleep and see if they're safe
A Bullet From, Not For
So a bullet formed is forwarded to the streets and shot past every living soul. It becomes lodged in the wall of thought outside of my home, four stories up. It puts a thought in my head, someone had to have been aiming.
So I realize I do not eat because I am hungry, I do so because I am endless.
Eternal and formless.
Now empty and emaciated, I search for the exit wound. Some source of fulfillment .
Only finding a note and it read, "A bullet from, not for, you"
I give way to the steady flow of release and take a step toward the wall.
And take a step toward the wall.
And take a step toward the wall.
And take a step onto the wall.
And take a step up the wall.
And then a step onto the ceiling.
And then through it.