Hangman
Reblogged from supersatellite February 21st, 2012 38 notes #Prose #writing #spilled inkI’m down to the very last rope and every thread of my sin is woven into the faint tendrils of a sailor’s knot. Knots that have now made me a retired pirate of the sea. Resigned from this ocean swirling with constant talking, talking, talking. Buzzing in mumbles and chatter clustered into one rectified reef of condemnation and corruption. I was so tired from the salty spit of thick tongues and shattered voices. So I became a thief soaring against the wind, snatching all the twine from the bowels of a rutted old deck. I was closed off, boarded up like windows that shut behind the tattered sails of slumbering eyes. I know the world was sleeping too when I felt the cold distant undertow of myself coil in. Staunched and exhausted, I wound my thread tight. So tight that you never noticed my knot slip over these soaked sails and grubby mast. This hangman is a pendulum, now swaying against the passing of time over worn tides and open seas. A captain of his own voyage flying high like the trembling flags that once flickered in the iris of his tired eyes.
