Creation's Leftovers.

"Let the cliches fall
From my lips
Like colors upon the wounds
Of the blind
They can neither see
Nor entreat
Those that leave
Their marks, their mars, their scars
But they feel
The gaping red and yellow
As clear as you feel
The movement in your abdomen
Signaling the need
To rid yourself
Of solid impurities

And if we're not here
Than there's nowhere we are
Because you can't taste a soul
You can't touch a spirit
You can't swallow a feeling
Like you'd bite down coins
Hoping to pay the piper
For the gut you lack

You won't fly to heaven
At the end of this road
You'll rot
And your wasted life
As sure as I'm wasting my time
Spilling words like wisdom
When there's little left to know
That anyone would care
To understand

Carpe Vita
As I let it slip
Twist my fingers
Like the slime of a slug
Bound for the salt
My son threw on it
To see what would happen.."

[Interesting..]