Gray Tale-Part 2

.....     The big cities with their smog screens and the fabulous actors believing their plays. On the cobblestone street, in front of the bookstore, there stands a magician with his tricks. Next to him is a man with a monkey and his musical box, a mimic, a mime and a side show of freaks. To the side stands a long haired skateboarder. He is holding his "New Deal" deck in one hand and a radio playing the song "Loser" in the other. His long bangs are dyed violet; his shirt comes down to his knees with the words "skateboarders suck" on it.
     After just a short time of watching the actors and magician, he grows tired and bored. Turning to his friend with the long brown parted hair, he says, "get your book bag and the Dinosaur Jr. CD--we're outta this pathetic display of ignoramus's. Are 'ya with me, my comrade of the street?"
     His long haired friend turns to him, points his pinkie down and his thumb up and twists his wrist. Along with the strange hand gesture he smiles revealing an odd glassy grin. He says in a confident humorous tone, "we're there bro!" And they skate off.

.....     He knows how it feels, he's felt everything there is to. He knows when you are lying and sees when you are fake. He feels it when you hurt them; when you sleep he is awake. He watches you; that fly on the wall. He could poison you by just speaking the whole truth. He is silent because you would kill him if he wasn't. He is the Santa Claus of your subconscious and eternally hibernating. Pray he never wakes.

.....     Watch in the night, where you walk or you don't. Carry your cross with your garlic and your sharp wooden stake. Beware of the beading and red dilations. Bleeding noses, rusty nails, and the dimensions of escapism.
     Then walk on the gray trail for a day. You may pass the place where I live. Stop by and visit for a while because before long you may very well choose to leave. The walls in my home may be too gray for you and hurt your eyes. If they hurt your eyes, you were already blind anyway.
     So come wearing your shades; you always do anyway...then take them off, leave, and let me be. You can't see, you can't see. It's only me. It's only me.

Gray Tales are just writings of some gray trails
Gray trails have no illusive veils
They are places of truth where hypocrisy fails
Trails of painful memories held dear to the soul
Gaps where there's no plug as large as the hole
A universal escape back to reality
From the viewpoint of reality
No escape with no surrender