Non-Sprout

Velvety green carpet,
Below my feet.
A sharp parapet,
Overlooking a busy street.

Climb up, they want me to
Climb up,
It’s a razor, cutting through my soul,
And my soles are bleeding,
Along the sides,
Running down to the tenth floor,
Ninth,
Eighth,
Sixth,
First,
Why is my heart beating?
While my soul is bleeding, to death.

Warm gusts of air,
Tangle locks of hair,
Splashing across my face,
With the burning rain,
From a black hole in space..

Walk along, they want me to
Walk along,
The same road, that wasted their spirit,
And my spirit is screaming,
Alone inside,
Screaming to priests,
Friends,
Lovers,
Angels,
Gods,
Vultures,
But nobody hears it,
Because it is wilting away, whimpering.

Hydrogen,
In my lungs,
Makes me feel,
Light as air,
And when the gas dies down,
I fall from the heavens,
Into a place,
Called nowhere.

Disoriented while sober,
High is a calming disease,
Or so they say,
In whispers,
Afraid of those, who wait,
Listen,
Complain,
Hate,
Detest,
Stalk,
To detain,
An innocent razor cut soul,
Trying to fill,
A black hole.