the house smells like a melting wire

and
   outside

city
smoke, leaf–– kite

I lie by my window
an old god covered in age
once painted, now
white is my name

but it is suddenly so lovely

I watch my world grow
once clumsy babbling
it talks now endless

somewhere
     sun subsiding

and I am not rot

I am not rot

this is a whisper I will not let go

I run my stoney hand
on my stoney hand
my hand
the hand of an archeologist
uncovering time from time
and my hand
the trembling power of a painter
unsure fingers with a half-filled quill

I rewrite— strangely— verse after obsolete verse
red and blue and dawn on dust

glittery awakening-– heavy and sour
white sightless eyes on history focused

exit centuries
like lather through sink-– exit war and tomb-people
exit sunken empires where deities go to die
–– exit exit exit!

          open the window!

in a flood thick

awash this skin, porcelain and stone
awash tongue forgotten, awash pupil

an artefact arm
slowly mobile
a hand blooming to veil the light
from wet, blinking eyes

a rickshaw bumbles by
a van singing
even the quiet whistling of a
bicycle’s chain
it’s getting cold

my socks? where did— here they are

the house still smells like a melting wire
but Faizan said
that Saad said that
he is bringing pizza on his way home

and outside
grey-gold fades

slowly— strangely—
I am not rot

        a melting's quiet sniffs

I am not rot

i'm melting for you
my heart drips
while your cream-colored candle rests under it

breath coated in bourbon
whisky fantasies
of you and me
i couldn't prepare for your hair
or your stare
or those bouts of two a.m. mayhem
i'm melting for you

I was falling
for you

the feeling of
being weightless

the sky and
the ocean are
blue

like your eyes

your eyes and
Einstein’s brain

are the depths
I can never reach

but I will drown trying
to reach either or both

the blades dull until they can't break through skin,
scars pile up, making the cuts bleed less than they did before.
you do the same amount of damage, with less the mess.
its not satisfying enough, is it?
will you ever be satisfied with yourself?

i'm almost me again,
she's almost you.
-
i've got some color back,
she thinks so too.
-
i laugh like me again,
she laughs like you.

Tied to what i want to free from
Returning to what i want to run from
Attached to what i want to detach from
Haunted by what i want to forget
Passing by same point in this maze, again.