Trees suppressed by sunshine
Lank black across baked salmon
Paint brush brick strokes
Hugging heat against
Sun faded pavement
As 85 mile per hour
Sleek through
wavering heat waves
Slick as
Unwavering commitment
To the fire
Both passion
And the burns
That make staying here
Worthwhile.

                                              The End

at first it's faint, the wailing sound.
almost a mile or two away.
it's a quarter to 1, you stayed up late again thinking about
her or him or what or who.
the sound is loud and you can't come down from the high.
your ears are stinging, your eyes on fire, knuckles are ****** and bruised.
remember that razor you said you would flush?
the drugs?
the pills?
the *****?
all you can hear is that ******* wailing.
your thoughts foggy, unclear.
trembling hands gripping the metal that sets your demons free.
the 3 bottles of *****, the bag of X and
your moms prescription pills.
little did you know, the wailing you heard was no siren at all;
it's your screaming and crying and loss of hope ringing throughout your ears.
as they strap you down
and roll you away,
you're just a siren for everyone in these pasty white walls to hear.
so when you remember her or
him or what or who, maybe
why, when and how;
also remember the faint sirens.
when you woke up in a hospital bed.

I sit by the lake,
                                 on the lush green grass,
gently try to break
                                  my inner thoughts,
and silently assimilate
                                 chirping of birds,
rhythmic swaying of trees
                                 by the sweet breeze,
stare at the white cotton clouds
                                 spread on the chimerical blue
and try to soak the pure dew
                    till the morning remains new.