*How Not To* Time Travel
I walk over the ground
To where I watch myself fall...
And into the house where Balbir died.
On each trip to my door.
I lay upon his spot.
And I tell him that I'm not.
That this is all I know.
That dam, to where we drove?
That there would be the place.
That there had sealed your fate.
I tell him he's my dear,
That maybe he didn't know,
That I'm glad to have been put here,
To remember his blackbeard glow..
And his funny honeypot,
Belly...
Which didn't quite jiggly to and fro.
And that...
I can't say that he recalls me.
Cause only he can know.
That I'm Here for facts,
Unknown to me,
That neither do I know.
Through...
Each and Every
Single day,
I am to walk,
O'er the ground;
Acrossed to where,
I watch myself,
Maybe just die,
Upon the ground.
Before I step,
Into the house
Where Balbir,
Once had been alive,
And on the day,
That I cried,
Just after Balbir, Balbir died.
Well, it happened,
So fast you know..
And when I'm feeling lonely,
I just think there to his spot.
And there I find my focus,
That this-the lot we got.
And there I find my anger.
And there I find my spite.
Balbir near total stranger--
Yet once so maybe not.
Who perhaps,
Saw something,
Or, was asked simply to do,
A common thing-Maybe nothing,
That later,
Had him running,
From this, Them, and
The nothing.
Not knowing that he's through,
Perhaps...
Aye, that is the lot,
The lot We got.
And I fill myself with empty.
And I fill up gentle rage.
I look to where the seas meet.
And hope they got,
Just what they gave.
I fill up good and plenty.
There's nothing else to do.
This is the spot where Balbir lived.
This Balbir man was true.
Filling up my hopeless.
Filling up my nevermores.
Testing my wonders-if-it-matters,
An it's not a thing that knowns.
Fighting my suspicions.
As if it'd make a sense,
And trying to be humble,
While I'm utterly incensed.
Still...
I can...
Sit above the floor,
Where years ago his blood,
Went spilling from his guts...
And search for Balbir's soul.
~As I hold the place,
Where Balbir died.
Not knowing,
what I'm for~
Though...
I know now that,
I were watching ME,
When She Me fell down,
Upon the ground,
Because,
My head then crashed,
A separation-like glass,
Just like before,
When My Me Me my door.
Thrice now Here,
This place again.
And there,
Where Balbir,
Laid rest on the floor.
Not knowing which trip,
Created the *This*.
As, *she* were my age
as I'm my age late,
And then *I* were four
...teen twelve maybe eight.
And then but a child,
And for crying out loud.
Where her Balbir had died!
In her head only cried.
How could anyone,
Ever Know,
Of time's hellos'
And of time's doors.
To make a sense,
Of the nonsense of,
Pirates and Clones.
And no body knowns's.
Soon...
I am to fall down.
Soon...
The watching girl.
Soon her head,
Will crash.
The separation-broken glass.
Will I see--
The man,
Assaulting Me Her Us.
As from Her My Our then,
Our Angle of view obstructed,
The We I She Us Me,
Are quickly done, you see?
Will I reckognize,
The same Hatred in his eyes,
In his face on that upcoming day,
What will his cheekbones say.
Will it still appear the FACE,
That I She Us Me Her, watched,
Every day, every place?
Will it be,
The same, as when I saw Me She back then?
And,
What then will then became,
Of, Her My Our twin brain,
There...
Will it crash,
Separation-Like Glass,
As I She Me Us,
Falls and splits up?
*glare*
It'd be nice to know,
That it wasn't Me She Them.
Yet here I am, again.
And here I am again.
Having not ever left,
And Having not ever arrived.
Never missed but for a sec.
And I...
Am tickled sometimes, not to death,
To simply self assess.
Though, it's a rotten luck road.
Compared to how simply goes.
Think o're to the spot,
Where,
Balbir's life Had gone;
As I'm...
Watching,
O'er my shoulders,
Not caring that,
I'm soon to be anon'd.
As there is nothing I can do,
In the way it must be done,
Unless I've already done it,
And I'm...
Waiting for,
The footsteps.
And for...
My Precious little girl,
For Her My frightened little gasp,
Not once but twice-ah lass!
Not knowing that...
Not knowing that...
Not knowing that...
Not knowing that.
I probably learned this from mum...
True,
As I walk o'er the ground,
Where I watched myself, true,
Maybe die,
And into the house where I'd preferred,
Balbir, the sir, had stayed alive,
Each day at the moment,
The moment before,
Balbir and I had passed,
Through his door.
And before I am to go.
Me, maybe somewhere,
Just cried and then looked,
For help about what,
What no body can book.
[edit on 28-10-2008 by HugmyRek]