I sit with no room to properly
Extend my lungs to reap fresh air
So instead I **** oxygen from
A wasteland of a mind
Hoping my heart explodes
Into a balloon
Leaving behind
Blood-stained shadows of words
On the skin of what used to be the tallest tree
So no one can blame me
For writing poems.

Standing in your center of gravity
Brushing aside
wide, wistful, worrisome, wet
leaves of the forest
Life cuts into the
nightmarish amethyst of
the night,
stumbling into holes
falling, screeching
into the nanosecond of that space
Dappled waters ripple
Floating transparently
A melodious silence;
The gentle pull of breath

Brisk coldness infused in silent veins
Wild wind rolling in, merciless and elegant
Piercing through everything, laughing in its wake
Trudging through layers of crunching ice and firm snow
Burning the skin off your tongue for hot chocolate
The trees shed their leaves
To let in the sky

sun breaking through a stark-black sky
its rays are unconfined as it journeys through my window
I wipe the sleepiness from my eyes, but its warmth lingers
nothing ever stops, it only pauses
existing within the fabric of reality
but no longer changing it

the scent of a rose
the light of a sun
the glowing from a moon
the dust from a star
the tablecloth on your table
the tree's roots cutting into the earth
a world behind a window
the rain sounding from comfort
sea salt spraying coarse sand
an aesthetic
what a bore