Curving down a winding road.
I finally soaked into a door.

My emotions were statues,
Like concrete thread pouring the sky, a new blueish green.

Fear was it's own culture.
Demanding belief & hovering over those who could break, in seconds.

I could smell the rain.
My lessons, showed me how.
Taking me through night & pointing at the smallest pieces of of we are.

Causal days of ache.
I tarnished the old wool, parchment paper.
Everything I thought was real,
Became fragments & out of the pile, I found some of my reflection.

The scarred kindness of generality.
A life led from simple roses,
And yet the most deadly, tangible thorns & scarcely beat dirt.

Times become all too familiar.
Launching coins, off a thumbnail,
Into the only well within miles.

My feelings were frozen.
Trapped in lights in this darkened room.

Arching up a windy *****.
I finally became the door.