Count me out of your metaphor, I'm out the door.

Moonshadow labored upon me
pruning my paths  
in pale lavender - a light-like lace
tracing my naked kneecaps
 
Petals settle to the bottom of the bath
 
Being tripped on skipping blades
silver shards
grass or glass, it's of no matter
I'm ever cut up indoors or out
I'll shoot the shit  
let my pseudonym take my hits
sit behind a frosted glass
 
Nomenclature - a nomadic nature;
a nominal
prodigal  
passage  
holds open my throat...
 
and pumps in gas