Insomnia

It used to be later but now it's earlier and I'm going insane with out sleep. I can't stop writing and having day dreams, only it's night. I like what I wrote, but I may just be being deliriously stupid. Love, Paris.

He told me what to do
He just sat on the toilet
from an upward view.
How was he so calm when the wind was blowing fish scales all over the room?
He knew what to do,
shut the screen door, okay they stopped
but now your eyes are similar to giant grapefruits and your hair is matted like giant roots.
Don't let them touch the ceiling!
Their cuts were in the process of healing.
So were my fingers, the tips wwere all missing; like sliced meat; you are what you eat.
I know this because I threw them up in the street.




We walk on the flames of our feet, only inches from the street. We let the fire burn our flesh like living cells on sudden death. Burnt to the bone, we carry a head with no home.
Resting on the bones, the bones made of emeralds.
They shine green like from a scene where a mermaid bleeds the true colors of the sea.
There is no blood left on our emerald bones.
They are licked dry and made into hair combs.
Combs used for the silverest of hair and are considered the rarest of rare.
Only when a mermaid bleeds can she be free, and her emerald blood, made from our emerald bones becomes lost at sea.

I'm so out of it, mermaids.