It started yesterday. meticulously scribed. A rendezvous-- Yet, the sun creeps over the horizon, then sinks. Blood runs thick and stale-- I roll over into and out of my breath. The earth dies in patterns under my body.
Pages, Ink-startled with life
incomplete.
Days past now stagnant
and laced into dusty deja vu.
there is a lull;
Little boy
lacquered in a heavy, grey film, I observe the world. blotting out detail pursing my lips on the tissue of dim; my visage enhanced. smoke surfaces where it does not belong my fingers seem foreign I examine them in wonderment breezeway lips to imagined or real destructions amazing grace pleas hummed at an unsteady tempo these chemicals write my blood chemistry chain reactions radiate through my nervous system store-bought lobotomy; I develop a tic. "The benefits outweigh the side effects," they say. The noises become quiet, I jest. my day is restricted to bar graphs and pie charts delicious reminders of differential indifference. I slink into my bed and lie still in waking hours watching patterns on the ceiling at night when the chemicals may run free; It is not safe. Take two sedatives and call me when you shake them, baby. My fears have been reduced to miligrams. There is a tear in the seams I venture out examine things slowly and watch colors bleed together to myself I proclaim, in question, Is this a glimpse of happiness or does it simply define madness?
green melts into my fingers I soothe the earth in rich, slow strokes lying on my back I feel the ground exhale. My lashes flicker and earthly debris falls slow off my careless cheeks. I breathe. my figure lay akimbo to breezes grazing the curve of my body. I wake as raindrops blanket the grey two petals parting I wait. the skies darken my eyes dilate lips burn I exhale.
long, drawn out summer days kiss the nape of my humid flesh breathe Is it enough to exist? Is it enough to write letters I will never send? I mourn the loss of you. Colors pass over the lids of my eyes cool themselves in flutters You light up the night, behind my lids, and my womb aches. It is a tiring masquerade running down the streets brightly aged by love's glow and I mourn you. My lips on the cool glass of store windows I drift off to a weary sleep exchanging correspondence in waves.
