Black and White

Nothing makes my heart so wild as being In possession of a potent night Racing down the stairs in a nude descension Shedding and discarding my hide But the bold strokes crack so quickly And it's often that I wonder why Dripping at the slow-motion rate of surrender Hanging to my bones as they dry How can I want something more than a new hell in which to fry When I see in only black and white? There's a sinful sort of side of being So contained, a bit like being lost Stumbling through the background like a small town loner Quietly a-whisperin' my thoughts into my cupped hands Folded and monk-like, at least that's what I've always said How does writing letters from the lonely margins feel When there is no hair on my head? Is the solitude I seek a trap where I've been blindly led? Tell me, where then do I go instead? When atonement comes in distant waves I might wait until the next to break Choking through forgiveness at a sunfly prompter Staring through the back of my face Its a vulgar, hidden part of being tethered to the world right now; Spending all my dollars to remain a member Nothing in my eyes but a scowl Do I bother to define myself beyond what they allow? Have I already forgotten how?