days like this are my favorite.
silence save the sound of the wind, the rain, and cars passing

its like a gentle cleansing--
a washing away of the doubt
that consumes me most days

the wind helps me breathe
the rain helps me think
and the cars help me remember I'm not alone

Your fingers like petals that fall upon my skin,
the aroma fluctuates on the membrane of
that which alternates between the
                            vessels
of what tells me to
                              gravitate
between the consequences of conciseness  
and consideration. I'm whispered upon
to accept both realities..

But innuendos are the motions
                          that make me linger
on the words you weave within my heart.

Can you ******* smiles when I look at you
when your not observing.

They are a confectionary that is only visualized
when I steal an embrace when least expecting
my lips to collect candy from your thoughts.

I am vacant of gravity, I wonder the furrows of
life's breath. Always descending to my eventual
ending but captured in free falling sorrow.

But I linger between now and the moments that
captures me before I'm a singular line, not beating
only unattached  from this place and every other.

"I'm always declining,

*"But never reaching stability  to settle upon.

Eyes there a inconvenience in the shadows
of perpetual darkness,  like ailments of light
they shift around my desolate room.
I hear things, things that I should be able to
visualize with nothing within the perceptive
gazes of my sight.

I once had a life, I wouldn't call this life but
a destitute lingering of shimmering reflections
that resonate back to this place. filaments of
noise lacerate on my senses. Then I hear the
echo of past pains, my ears are vacant this
melody that I hear within my cerebral contusions.

Whispers slither within my memories, violating
valuable instances, the hairs on my arms procure
a stance of pins magnetized on vibrations.
Shading accumulates within the room and a voice
plays on the shadow of my flesh and I hear:

"Where
            is
                DADDY,

"Where

                   is

       DADDY,


I shudder as I see nothing before me, but
shading that illuminates the surroundings
in visceral empathy, that I  cant rightly conceive.
I encompass my reaction too slowly as thoughts
willingly motion my palms forward to oblivion.
Regressing on the onward offerings, I step back.

Have I been thinking to much, am I seeing things
that are an apparition of my desolation within
the world of my singular selves. I stumble away
from the solitude lingering in the blank reflections.
Instead I look in the mirror and see myself speaking

"Where
            is
                DADDY,

"Where

                   is

       DADDY,

My younger self hammers on the echo's
of a past, unwritten words collect on my
reflection. I could stop this, if I just listened
to tearful repetitions, but I just walk into a silent
nullity of air. A reproduction of fading moments
tries in vain to stop this continuation of ourselves.

Awoken on a ***** mattress in a room, I remember
this place, but it seems desolate like the feelings
were drained from its existence.. I'm only a child,
why am I here? I cry out "Where is daddy,
Tearful in this moment, till I see a rope hanging loosely
from the ceiling, I swing back and forth, its cold on my fingers.