When art starts to hurt,
the love affair begins.
Red autumn is poisoned with green envy through sapien generated raindrops.
Water, the conduit for energy to pursue its destination.
It rushes impatiently and soon electrical currents buzz recklessly through the neurological maze of a self-conscious enigma.
Stimulated grey matter in the womb of the skull.
Mind's eye lazily reminisces, of one's loving patience
as hands lay cold
on the empty bed
faded in hues of pale blue from over use.

Irregular posture, cramped up foetus beckons sore neck to turn.
Move. The human visage facing dew covered windows.
Natural tragedies...
Petals begin to fall,
And leaves start to wither
I plant you, the seed, into this irrigated soil
You demand perfection
But perfection is pain, a labour of love
As I wipe the dirt from my face, still wishing you to be free
Compassionate intentions to give away these white wings to soar freely, effortlessly through the sparse sky
I watch you spread your wings, flying and your speed so sharp that you clip mine in the process.
So I fall, I fall from the cloudy sky, trying to build the ladder that reaches for your presence
The ladder covered with splinters, I still continue the journey with my gravelled hands attempting to reaching you.
You stay, I leave
I want to be there with you, can you take me under your wings?