A yellow exhaustion eats the skinny stomach comfort
of wondering how the night will dissolve
and how paranoid the longing mind will be while falling asleep
The click click dancing in the head-
a colorful dripping noise and dangerous creaking around me,
keeping me awake and wondering if the doors are locked
What eggshell floorboards will I walk along tomorrow?
What will I break or preserve?
What will the daytime smell like?
When it’s dark (and all I can know in the moment)
everything that existed under sunlight seems so far away
I can’t recall how it affects the senses-
like leaving Colorado, trying to will the taste of snow air back to the tongue
but it’s as gone as summer, as Stacy to Georgia
And lying in bed, still as the elderly in church,
wondering which one of our mouths eat the most lies
and which ones spit the most out
I dedicate one sharp inhale to winter
And shut my eyes (the ones I watch you with) to the cold
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 3:31 PM UTC
A yellow exhaustion eats the skinny stomach comfort
of wondering how the night will dissolve
and how paranoid the longing mind will be while falling asleep
The click click dancing in the head-
a colorful dripping noise and dangerous creaking around me,
keeping me awake and wondering if the doors are locked
What eggshell floorboards will I walk along tomorrow?
What will I break or preserve?
What will the daytime smell like?
When it’s dark (and all I can know in the moment)
everything that existed under sunlight seems so far away
I can’t recall how it affects the senses-
like leaving Colorado, trying to will the taste of snow air back to the tongue
but it’s as gone as summer, as Stacy to Georgia
And lying in bed, still as the elderly in church,
wondering which one of our mouths eat the most lies
and which ones spit the most out
I dedicate one sharp inhale to winter
And shut my eyes (the ones I watch you with) to the cold
it's not winter anymore, but i still feel this way
