An arcus cloud takes place of thought
flesh becomes mottled underneath satiated floorboards
bones to be forever stilled within
four walls barraged with unbidden webs
the forbidding prints of an unwanted touch now windows
furniture arranged with indistinguishable pleasantries

I found the Garden of Eden and remained for two years
I soon found this haven to be inaccurately named
For this was not a place I loved
And in that moment, I could not escape
I fought to swallow what my heart wept
To keep from drowning I built a turret atop my chest
Soon fields of gold turned to rag
My touch went vile and with it reaped ingenuous seeds
Now I must wait in vain for granted clemency

I lay parallel to the sky, fruitlessly raising a hand to grasp at shades that belong to no one
My body is left to float over a sea of green, losing my mind to the depths of weeds
Nugatory observations of what lays yonder as I peril my eyes to beams of gold
My heart reverberates with sorrow for the music marked with expiration

confessing my sorrows to a daffodil
petals reflect colors of disdain and contempt upon me
I reach not to the reflection but to a bottle of encapsulated freedom

oft did my feelings reverberate the sound of a forbidding touch
laying upon a hill of dirt
I’m doused in shades of blue
palpating the flesh that becomes mottled
sloshing off layers hoping to satiate this hollow body
these bones become stilled by a heart that no longer beats so sure
a temple barraged with unbidden webs
clouds come and take their place

You're the look of contemplation,
A glance of what I yearn for,
My Sunday morning.

       Internal dissonance
       Creeping in slowly
       Then all at
       Once

I open up a window,
I let your light in.
But
You see my shadow,
And only say thanks.

I place you in infinite containers,
Unsure of whether I'm finding opposites
Or
Reflections

I imagine something positive happened
Between where you are
And where I desire to be
 
      I can't remember
      And here
      You're in hell

Your words dissipate into my bad timing,
a concept now tangible,
You place a statue.

Are you happy?
Well, shouldn't I be?

Thumb through each vertabrae
Please
don't startle the moths
Powdered wings express explicitly
the decay of contentment
Each flutter hides a flame with sand
between the nape and dissonance within
Internal fermentation is aroused
by the tumult of emptiness
These spaces swallow matter
aiming to defeat nothing
Stave off synaptic transmission at the precipice of compunction
Illumination met with rosey shades
is it an opposite or reflection?
At the painted canvas of tethered flesh
muscles fail to quiver
There's nothing left but knots
fibers intertwined to climb down
An infinite
drop