smothered.
the word(s).

a hissed
centipede,
the millepede
of lowering fear.

a smoothed
inner cracking.

this crater
of smoky numbness.

*(why can't i tell
you
my love?)

A spring like afternoon.
So,
I walked my thoughts
in the sun

and picked
here and there
a glance
of other-selves

(the ripest ones
decaying in fallen
houses, the left overs
of bygones and forget-me-nots).

Filled myself
in reddish and bluish,
a euphoric sight flying.
Then, my doorstep.

poetry,
this palette
of deranged
chords,
in falsetto,
the impossibility
in my dreams,
to be gifted
to you.

knots.

made of
knowing not
why not.

all i did not,
all i do not.

out of not
unknotting
what was not
knotted,
no, it was not.

so linear.
just
let it be
and move on.

or not.

ocean...

its sound.
the word's.

a suspension
as if you'd
hear your name out loud
somewhere in nowhere,

a rumbled whisper
as if you'd
stumble and fall,

the seashell out of reach,
there, on the edge.

ocean...

crossed the hope
of hearted days,
dyed the lies
across the abyss,
was crossed in the fray
in crossroads far from hope.

cross heart, oh my, one
hope didn't cross,
so surely had to lie
these days, to my eyes
a life, your sight,
in my desire a hope to die.

vacuum.

a stop motion,
on senselessness
of expression.

suspension of self.
cryogenic life,
no cord to the inner core.

i miss a dream.
the one you are.