My head will split in two.
Drown my sorrows in the shower,
Immersed into a jet of fury,
cold, feels like ice.
Steam billows,
enclosed,
Drippings, stream down,
snaking over curves till linoleum.
Warm,
roast me like dinner,
till I'm pink.
Soft,
tenderly, fingers wrap around face,
curl, grip and pull.
Tension, stress
wash away.

Thoughts.
I think,
I dream,
I hope,
it will crush me.
Wash away.

Clean, reborn
epiphanies.
Drown my sorrows in the shower, I will.
Till better, I feel.

The whir of a VCR,
bzzzzzzzz
the automatic release is broken.
Pop it out,
into the case,
tucked away into a chest.
Dark brown wood,
dust.

Bear.
Crumpled rug,
goofy face,
he's from outer space.

Jealousy,
it doesn't belong,
because there is no belonging (anymore),
only longing.

A metaphor:
A barren hill,
is it greener on the other side?
I climb it still,
find a rock and want to hide.
Inside it's dark,
hollow,
off the tree falls the bark,
Yearn to follow.

It's over now,
both that and the before,
I need more,
But I don't know how.

I wish I was invisible.
I'd go out,
and wander the streets.
Perch on a wall,
and watch the world.
I'd meld with the rain,
and make indents into the snow,
"Ghost, phenomenon",
people would stare. But
I wouldn't be there.
I'd be gone, on an evening stroll.
Feeling the wind
wisp around me.
It knows I'm here,
and so does the rain,
Because I'm not.
I'm not see-through.
If I sit there,
and ponder my thoughts,
people would wonder,
a little, a lot.
And I would wish that I wasn't there,
that I was invisible.

Red spatter across green.
Ants sing.
Caterpillars pour eggnog.
A tree is raised.
Bug Christmas.
Strands of Brown tinsel lead up.
Carpeting a tan oval.
Over the ridge, and onto a bridge.
A deep, sunken hole on either side.
Devoid.
The crows have had their feast.
Lower.
Agape.
A cave lined with whitish stones.
Further, the ***** continues down.
Two mirrored hills.
Gouges are ravines,
creating flowing rivers.
Down,
the red till it touches green.
Above,
the sky is mesmerizing,
drawing me in.
White clouds transform.
The sun is gone.
Blotted out, but no rain.
Deeper.
A nearing roar.
Below is celebration.
Above the blades,
severity.
Paralyzed.
You ran me over with a lawn mower
and so the lawn was painted christmas.