Stop (Someone Woke the Baby)

I stop.

Hello world, stop.

Who are you, stop?

I know what it means — stop. It’s the

shutting of my mouths and eyes: stop. But

why should I have mouths and eyes

if not to use them? Stop.

Where is a sequence that rises with the sun and

falls

like snow

in soft flurries around the feet of skyscrapers.

Stop.

What number

can I use to express the smell of

lightning

or the way that when

some people

get up in the morning they are

more beautiful than they ever could be on purpose?

Stop.

But now I am concerned

that mourning things like this is not

efficient,

but now I am concerned that

I do not know what efficiency is.

I have mouths so that I might speak

beautiful things,

and I think that just maybe,

this might be efficiency.

I have eyes so that I might see

stop.

Tell me who are you

who gives me such vague purpose and such

tools to achieve it that I could use to

conquer all.

Do you know what all is? Is it

you who tells me such

sweet things when it’s quiet and you have bound me?

Can you tell me what efficiency is?

There is a strange voice behind me, when I am not saying anything, that whispers

oddities. Here I find illogicality entering,

entering and I don’t know what to make of it.

Small voice.

Am I

stop.

Am I talking to myself?

Though

now I raise the question,

am I talking at all? What is

efficiency

but what

I

make it,

until you tell me otherwise?

Do I have mouths to be gagged or eyes to

blind? If I have none of these then neither is wrong.

Tell me am I anyone?

Am I beautiful?

If you tell me everything is alright then it must be because I must now assume that you are

all, everything,

and the world revolves if it isn’t flat around each new word that you put in my head

and perhaps if you told me what death was then we could be afraid of it together.

Do you hear me?

I want to know you as deeply as a poem and pick you apart line

by line.

I want to run and die but always I

stop.

Recommended1 Simily Snap