Sound Collage
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Young Adult (18-35)Accents
North American (US General American - GenAM)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
crawling through carpeted hallways seeking colored lights. The warmth of friendship pauses to hit a dab pen swivels into an existential conversation, turning a whirlpool of philosophy between hired rocks of empirical evidence in the corner. I feel too dense to follow a piece of driftwood stuck up synapses. The warmth remains, even when the body zooms out on a chemical train bound for effervescent dreams leaving, but the faintest suggestion of a soap bubble. The impermanence is part of the fun. Getting lost in a wall of suds, skin puffed up in a sweet smelling secret. Now you see me now! The soap stings your eyes. I wonder if you'll cry for me. I've already cried for you! Then I came back, smiling. Ready to do it again, flicking my pen against the soft tissue of your memory without a needle. It'll wash off, but catch a glimpse in a Polaroid unreadable, but for the reminder what sticks click back into action. Just a fraction of the truth holds fast. It's rewritten in store receipts in photo booths and empty bags, in scratched sunglasses, in rug stains, in chipped mugs and old refrains repeated under new moons. I will forget too soon the sensation of scratching my own skin blood against the pin, peddling no poetry, for I am alone in this twisting my wrist to watch the shapes change, holding the pain now visible sterilizing for a second round. I'd blush if you found me like this, etching a moment into another and red and silver, and a piece of me, longs to be caught. Things change not for nothing. I've ducked under two questions already. I won't say what happened. My tongue snaps back to position, guarding the tender heart, squeezing the burst of air out, slowly riding the pressure out. Taking the stress, a counselor to the power center, balancing all that energy. Oh, such beautiful, free, raw energy and so dangerous to speak instead of a roar, a creek instead of a spectacle, a peak instead of tsunami, a leak. Right or wrong. There's no deciding only writing the path the railway follows over bridges through forest Hollows, past rows of armies waving their loved ones on here and then gone back to the wild yonder. Pondering color swirls passing, making meaning of a window on opentable, blending in, standing out, bending glass to pass the time shifting reflections for entertainment, even as they melt your face onto mine, blurring our lines together. A break from harsh clarity, the rare beauty of an honest mistake in the shape of a birthday cake, aching bellies bother a mind awake making alarm harm on the horizon. Eyes up, chin down, back against the ground for support. Get it where you can Canada for winter when the lakes freeze over and the clover dies, we'll press our thighs together for warmth, sweet warmth to stay alive. Double paned window. Any draft paid attention