Timid August rain hits my roof.
It’s cold and all the air's aloof.

But not warm, either.

The rain picks up and dies off often
beating shingles like fists on coffins.

Inconsistent, indecisive
Never mean but save the niceness.

Laying without motion.
No emotion, a resting ocean
Big and blue and deep with notions.

My breaths are natural,
spaced and quiet.
When I breathe in, it's like a diet.

Too hot for sheets; can't sleep exposed
Burning hands and nipped, ice toes

Trace my stomach with finger tips
Part the sea, my ****** lips.

Carving goosebumps on my forearms
Digging in to sever; no arms.

I’m not thinking but, my mind is full of thoughts.

I’m not dreaming, but not awake.

Not listening, but church bells ring.

My mouth's not dry, my cheeks aren't wet.

Memories I can't forget.

I am not here, but nowhere else
I am inside my own sad self.