Crippled

God needs you.

Where are you going?

Where are you running?

Stop.

Action!

I am a flying bird above the pit of burning lies,

I am a dog that hasn't smelled life with his own eyes,

I am lost like a flower fried in ocean with no sunlight,

I am a ghost. I am a mother. I am dust. I am summer.

There are people walking around thinking their thoughts,

There are demons sailing around in their wooden boats.

I am in the middle, and I don't know why.

Like a broken fiddle, I solemnly cry.

Where is that white pigeon that I saw fly over the river?

Or was it a dream and my yellow fever?

And my crippled soul walks in circles still.

I am strangely happy. I am fatally ill.