To be a stagnant lake,
just waiting to touch the sun.
Your serve no purpose on earth
in the sky, your life’s begun

I can’t bear to watch
your coffin kiss the ground.  
I’m begging you, ring the bell—
please just make a sound

You stain my skin
like the indents on my wrist.
The hair-ties from my weary day,
unused and painful.

Luckily, I employ you.
The indents fade and the angry
red marks vanish,
while my vision clears with it.

The crack of my wrist,
hyperextended like my patience,
I bring back feeling to my fingers.
Time to get to work.

𝓗𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓰𝓪𝓻𝓭𝓮𝓷 𝔀𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓼 𝓻𝓲𝓼𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓱𝓲𝓹
𝓑𝓮𝔂𝓸𝓷𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓶 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓴𝔂 𝓲𝓼 𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓵𝓮𝓼𝓼
𝓐 𝓱𝓪𝔃𝓮 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓷𝓮𝓼𝓼 𝓯𝓸𝓰𝓼 𝓶𝔂 𝓼𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽
𝓐 𝓶𝓲𝓼𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓬𝓪𝓾𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓼𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓫𝓮𝓷𝓮𝓿𝓸𝓵𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓵𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽
𝓑𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓭 𝓻𝓮𝓭 𝓻𝓸𝓼𝓮𝓼,  𝓯𝓾𝓵𝓵 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓻𝓲𝓹𝓮
𝓢𝓮𝓮𝓶 𝓽𝓸 𝔀𝓪𝓵𝓽𝔃 𝓪𝓵𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓽𝓻𝓮𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓮
𝓐 𝓹𝓵𝓪𝓬𝓮, 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓘
𝓘𝓷 𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮
𝓣𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝔀𝓮 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓷𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓯𝓲𝓷𝓭

Bees. Circling my ears,
I hear their buzzing like
remote drums.

They sting me with color—
flashes of green and violet,
their touches so distant.

To breeze in my home,
my mind drifting and
going with the flow of my blood.

Faces oscillating past,
hundreds melding into one,
yet I’d stake my life it was you.

I swim through the air, closing my eyes from
the pain of keeping them open—
somehow I can see with perfect vision.

Darkness, all but the stars,
enveloping me in their arms.
Ah, such a wonder to rest at last.

Write me.
Scribble me into
your existence.

Craft me the way
I know you’ve
always wanted to.

I can be a commander!
Building up your world
around your feet.

I’ll be your manuscript!
As long as it means
you’ll still read me.

Please,
just warp me at your leisure,
if it means you’ll stay.