I breathe stones with my heavy heart.
Angry at the sun for leaving me in the dark.
Breaking twigs and pulling grass, to keep the mind, occupied.

Soles cold; bare feet on ice.

A naked infant on the streets in June.
Staring at the window, looking at nothing.
Empty and distant, yet filled with rage and nearing
death.

Split hairs and pulsating veins,
Trembling fingers; drowning pupil.
Lone pebble in the desert, chair with no legs.
A Plant dying in the corner of my blooded eye.
It's leaves wilting, like little green teardrops.

Content frames holding within them, memories of a joy that once was.
Thoughts like a dagger, the sharpest blade in your kitchen.
The knife that you hide from your teenage kin.

My busy world, my lonely place, my mind.