Somniferous clouds
Of amber green smoke;
Trees in the fog,
Or rocks in the stream.

Delicate ripples of sound
Disturb the silence,
Like a gentle breeze
Among the evening birds.

As the waves roll in
The tide slides out,
Nursing me into the depths
Of healing darkness.

Hiding behind a closet door
Peering through the slats
Wondering if I should reveal my spot,
Or just stay hidden forever.

There’s always another way out
But that path is new.
The fear of it is irrational...

And so is my embarrassment.

Slashing cloth
Like an angel’s wing.

Ripping through
This tapestry of love.

Among the ashes
Of the severed half
Lie my mistakes,
To be lost from mind...

But never repeated.

Wishy washy
Goes the machine
Wishy washy
Making clothes clean

Wishy washy
And filled with lies
Wishes lost
With a broken prize.

Strings winding,
through and around.
Sharper than knives,
Yet softer than feathers.

Wrapped around my finger,
Connecting it’s vitality.

Is the red my fate...
Or just my blood,

Inescapable fates
Brand cinders onto our skin
Like the fluorescent shadows,
That outline our soul
In this cell’s darkest corners