life is an opportunity with skies filled with pink, showing us we can be whoever we need to be.

life is an inevitable sadness ready to cascade around our shoulders and swallow us whole.

the night sky looks sickeningly beautiful to an insomniac.

words
are the blood
in my thin
yet bulging
                              veins.

do they wonder about who I am
about who I was
about who I could be?
or am I just a face?
trapped in the cage that is society
with no known key to fit the lock.

my mind is a mess
of spilled ink and fluttering pages
of nameless faces and faceless names
of pink sunsets and choking waves
of dying grips with icy flesh
if spreading smiles with no conviction
of e v e r y t h i n g .
and it is too much to handle.

I wonder
                    if my name
                    is tattooed
                    on the inside
                    of your                    eyelids

like your name
                    is tattooed
                    on the inside
                    of mine.