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One day I do believe that I'll be washing all this black out my hair
And from neath my nails all the darkness will wash out
And all the bugs from neath my skin will crawl out
And those little buggies will all sing out
Come out come out come out
Because the whole time they were the ones that kept me company
While I was dreaming away
Dreaming of something beautiful and untouched and clean
They were the ones that worked their way into the blood
And keep working till the blood ran to the brain
And they trickled all in
Like the rice my ancestors picked
Grains working in and hatching out dragonflies
Where the whole time I sang out Mercy Mercy Mercy
They added the less
Merciless
Which is what it all comes out to be
In the end when we're down on our knees
Working the grain and field and soil
The toil from the fall that grows the fruit
That rots away and works into the mush
The mush that works into the maggots that eventually become the flies
That work down into the skin and the blood and the body
And cry out in the end Holy Holy Holy
When at last they fly out and sing out
Free Free Free
Sometimes I think that I feel sad because I was never pretty,
But to be honest, I've always been pretty
It's just that no one knew but me.
Love always,
Myrtle
And from neath my nails all the darkness will wash out
And all the bugs from neath my skin will crawl out
And those little buggies will all sing out
Come out come out come out
Because the whole time they were the ones that kept me company
While I was dreaming away
Dreaming of something beautiful and untouched and clean
They were the ones that worked their way into the blood
And keep working till the blood ran to the brain
And they trickled all in
Like the rice my ancestors picked
Grains working in and hatching out dragonflies
Where the whole time I sang out Mercy Mercy Mercy
They added the less
Merciless
Which is what it all comes out to be
In the end when we're down on our knees
Working the grain and field and soil
The toil from the fall that grows the fruit
That rots away and works into the mush
The mush that works into the maggots that eventually become the flies
That work down into the skin and the blood and the body
And cry out in the end Holy Holy Holy
When at last they fly out and sing out
Free Free Free
Sometimes I think that I feel sad because I was never pretty,
But to be honest, I've always been pretty
It's just that no one knew but me.
Love always,
Myrtle
But then I'm not the poet so I'll shut up.
JULY 2008
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JUNE 2008
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MAY 2008
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