My reasons are mellow
music notes
made of bruised yellow
and print pressed flowers.

They're desperation mourning
a melancholy mood.
Intangible,
conflicted,
a mismatch of muse.

My reasons are trivial things,
books and tv,
good food and drink,
     notes in the air,

                and a pen on the brink
                                    of something important to say-

but the music fades,
the notes turn to dust,
and the reasons,
they fade away.