I saw a sky
slate grey- clear
but for
clouds that
wanted away-
drift listless

I thought of death
under a sun
unconcerned
and I breathless

I fear silence
between you
and I, tonedeaf
I sing
this, my melody.

She wore Shock
On her face,
As beautiful
As words.

He carried a
two litre bottle
of the cheapest cider,
Semi-hidden
under a tattered coat lapel,
So desperately,
That
It looked as if
He was shielding
The heart of lover,
Too heavy to bear.
And he made for the exit
Like
it was salvation.
The cashier just looked on
And thought
To himself, with pity-
How the bad goes
With the bad.

My thoughts could be beautiful if not so skewed
untangible things in very lucrative views
unhappy me
meets
quite happy you
& the cycle continues as we make ourselves lose

The day could never do the job of the night
it would ***** all the time
about never getting things right
always lookin' in the dark
never findin' the right keys
to a door that's unlocked
but still won't open for me

If only the cat had a more noble speech
maybe then he,
could talk sense to me
and maybe
i'd listen
whole-heartedly
for once in my ******* life
i'd listen to the cat speak
and take what he means
about the good and the bad
or
the wise and the lost
and understand that he sees
what he wants to see
because he's a ******* cat
but
that's fine with me.

The stifling darkness chokes my senses to the point at which I can't differentiate between the sounds of water dropping from branches and the moisture falling from the edge of my chin onto the crumpled leaves strewn around my feet. 

Crickets and assorted bugs I couldn't dream of naming pierce the dark with their high-pitched keening, and the occasional large displacement of rainwater from above reminds me of my childhood fear of the dark. 
These methodical observations cascading through my mind calm the frazzled maelstrom my emotions currently resemble. 

The borrowed boots I threw on, before flinging the door open to make my escape into the dark alternate reality of the night, confine my feet in an unusual way; my toes slamming into the fronts as I walk downhill; the soles of my feet slide back and forth as I trip over the branches and stumps hidden from my eyes by the thick blindfold of night.

I crumple, much like the leaves at my feet, onto a slightly damp fallen tree and close my eyes; more from habit than to block out the non-existent light. The bark feels somewhat grimy under the hand I recline upon, but the chaos gripping my mind occupies my attention; therefore I have no brain capacity to decide if the slimy surface warrants a relocation on my part. 

I direct my full attention inward and examine my uncharacteristically jumbled emotional cloud. Angry reds and blacks flash into exisitence, before extinguishing to reveal sickly yellow veins underneath before lighting again. As the time between the red and black explosions increases, a melancholy dark blue smog coats the inner recesses of my mind like a fuzzy wallpaper and rug combo. The cloud of emotion has dissipated, leaving only dark green wisps of calm in it's wake.

This writing seems to have calmed my inner turmoil; I accept the loss of a piece of me and mourn it's destruction. I'm left without the energy to pick up the artistic utensils I would use to recreate this piece sacrificed against my will. 

Hopefully, I will regain the motivation in the morning. But for now, I shall make my way back through the slick stumps and crumpled leaves to my bed and pass the time till then in dreams.