not a bird in earsight,
but the wind is quite insistent as the leaves rustle and chatter in conversation every instant the sky is blue, the sun elsewhere your eyes are dry, face bare. the clouds are few but lazy as ever! hope to stand and watch forever, the perfect wind that flips your hair but it's welcome as home, the silence that fills your head with talk. a beautiful day!
look at the small things and you will find happy hiding away
feel the burning in your head
feel the burning in your lungs feel the burning in the heart and the hurt that makes you start see the white on your arms and the creases of your palms. trace the lines of regret. the small sting of control. spite. silent thunder. everything is anger. you are anger. everything is fire. but you are even worse. the silent dark. feel the snake rise up in your stomach to your chest. blood flows down into the abyss, iron tang and black shine. it's always your fault, they say. the way you present, the who that you embody, the tone you project, the everything. the coarse words scraping around in your lungs. (they're actually screams.) search for red, red but only find black, black. ink. fade, but not away.
i'm sick of thinking your wrong is right
try to find your way when
the voices are far and the fog is near. try not to get lost when the eyes burn the tongue dries the ears fall away and the heart falls apart. like two lips that lose their words and choose to breathe instead, to pacify the aches in the head. but most important is what you find beneath the haze. the art of the maze.
time is passing slow but the hours go fast
eyelids are heavy like
weights dropping on your toes. sleep and thoughts are formidable foes. but meanwhile in the haze i can't feel my nose. yeah. i guess it goes and goes.
sometimes it's a place i'd like to be alone and unafraid floating through the inbetween. silence is noise, but never alarm a place where you can't give or receive harm lose all your friends, but it isn't the end someday you might see them again! but for now this is better, to shield your soul from what's through and done. what's left is a hole. (you don't know if this is for the best, but. you really, really. really just want to rest.)
it was never there.
you were wrong, there was nothing. it was always gray, gray. and the blots of color you thought you saw were just refractions of light. gone and by. the world is as still as stagnant water, made of thoughts instead of mosquitoes and bacteria. the thoughts itch in a way that mosquitoes could only dream. it was always this way. no surprise. humor, maybe even. why? the most hilarious word you've ever heard. because, say the gray walls, gray floors, gray ceilings, gray doors. because.
what are you even doing