'I should be dead'


Said the sleeping-
Sadness--
Trying to speak blind
With cayman lips.

This dust is different
Lingering internally-
Flailing at unchangeable.

There were pieces,
Like me--but-
Crafted from puzzle
I left them inside-the-clouds.
On the pathways-
And with her skin-

-Though the atmosphere stole them.

My familiarity had gone-
And now--
All I have,
Is singing carcinogens,
Gargling on numb.