We think of fainting spells
And red outbursts when
We hear the word
‘Overreact.’
But often, it is more
Accurate to think of the
Silence of a cold shoulder.

how many more
                
          drying days

                              until your name is just

       recycled little letters

                           sprinkled in my
  
        lonely language?

I am drying paint.

I sit back and watch

Myself grow less glossy,

More dull and emotionless.

beats are pulsing through lit eyes
that see amber
coated in a hand
that looks like honey
underneath the
yellow streetlights
a small head sticks out a
moving car window
on a still darkened evening
the only sound the
soft wind
and
the endless haunting unknown

They say our brains
Mature over the years.
But what if they only
Destroy themselves before
they can be fully formed?