Sometimes I feel,
As if I’m lost.
Perhaps — I could,
Live under innocent white and blue skies,
Adoring pink fescues and red saccharum,
and
tangerine sunsets that
careen lavender and ivory,
aroma candied
arousing the birds, but rather
I am
Mending memories within the black nimbuses
within my cerebrum
Attempting to occlude unhappiness
But with the zephyr
The castle walls drop
The crows intrude, and ignorance floods
Now
I am drowning,
Grasping onto torched remnants of
A people that I once enjoyed,
Until their eyes were forced shut
from the stinging salts
and their words became
as venomous as mambas.