Somewhere, someone subsides in a calm cartoon,
Sleeping soundly to the serene social tunes,
Sings several strange birds and a single soft beat,
Surviving summer heat and sipping something sweet.

She starts a staring contest with the silent silhouette,
Shouting "see you later son", as they're swallowed by the sunset,
So I stretch my arm to her shoulder, surveying the coming night sky,
Surrounded by a sea of shining stars, pulling my sweetheart to my side.

Some could say serendipity, sublime, a strange sort of substance,
Somehow, these silly descriptions don't do my song justice,
Somewhere, some snuggly lovers sleep, sing and survive,
So long as we're together, through the sunsets and the sunrise.

I feel my heart beating again, despite its composition,
It's just dirt and stone, my organs punctured and bleeding asphalt,
All of my guts spill and slosh out on the ground, sentient and clawing,
Molded into an avalanche of hands extending beneath your feet,
So that you may walk down this beautiful road I've created,
Made not from blood, sweat or tears, just stone, asphalt and rearranging,
Yet all I do is crumble by your gaze and quake from your beauty,
You've made this mountain move and you didn't even try,
And as you pass on by, I can't help but want to cry a diamond for you,
But instead, I just crack a smile.

This window is my calendar and every sunrise feels like a Monday,
Where every leaf dances to the wind, up and down, in a spiraling parade,
I've grown jealous of the coat on every squirrel and the feather of every bird,
Skittering and fluttering their designs, jumping and flying without any concern.

My one and only attire has a lot to be desired, by comparison to say the least,
And my arms and legs, as numb and limp as stone, just can't even compete,
Although I may be bald, the feeling of standing hair slithers through my skin,
And I can't help but shed tears of joy, despite all this envy I feel within.

I should be running more, over emerald fields of blades, tickling up a smile,
I want new clothes, tighter than mine, that hug like a mother to her child,
I need to get out of this room, far from all these imitation ice cream walls,
Where a sweet aroma actually lingers, like concessions at the mall.

I'm just so sick and tired of all these procedures in my life,
Unable to carve up courage, choosing a needle over a knife,
Never having the literal nerve to just get up and leave,
Drowning in a bed comprised of a salty, sweaty sea.

But Friday is near, nature is there and I am here, a daydreaming accident,
And soon I will be free from all my "brave" and "strong" commitments,
Friday is almost here and I've become so sick that I can barely breathe,
Just one more day of chemo and maybe, just maybe, I'll be free.

Cushioned in the cracks till the sliver meets eye,
I am a witness,
To the spider and the fly on the table,
Taking sip after sip of a heated debate over a purpose.

Eye twitching to the sides of the walls towards a painting,
Definition in the curves of the decay,
Still aesthetic from the lines to the dripping frame,
A figure crying with a smile at the dust and the webs,
Left by the painter.

We gander on at the ghosts of an empty room,
Before the creeks from the floor stopped existing,
Before the whites and the browns of the walls turned grey,
Where the fireplace whistles a fable,
Of a light it produced even brighter,
Than the beams cutting holes in the ceiling.

If not for the rain, I could've sworn I heard the songs of the tapping,
From the infants that stabbed at the windows,
Similar to the pitch of where the door used to be,
I used to scurry to the cleft of the kitchen,
To see the gods drink the sins of the passing week,
Where they would dance against the sides of the counter tops,
Before the moss conquered most of the tiles,
Before the corrosion ate away at the sink.

The rooms I used to venture to were worlds I thought never existed,
A land made of cotton and fabric,
Where the bodies would lie upon for hours,
Voices echoed from inside of a plastic box,
And showed a story of the lives within them,
I'd always watched till the frame within turned black,
I used to itch for the morrow and the after,
I used to crave for the revelation,

I still remember.