As life and death while neither truly works

a fear of death and a fear of life fuels my flame

the things I do don’t particularly interest me anymore

I feel like I’m slipping away.

Silenced colors will eventually fade.

If I were to not fear death, would I be able to live?

If I were to not fear life, would I be able to die?

Neither living or dying

mere existing

what existence is this?

to dream of colors that don’t exist

is to say to not dream at all.

But colors that don’t exist envelop us in comfort

and worry falls to all.

Sometimes hearing I love you is all that is ever needed . But still silence comes without movement.

Flaking lead, spit on green,
walls formed the small leaned
over bar
known as “Bulkling Beer”
(No pub at the end).
Migrant driven cars zoomed, rippled the window cage, but never stopped.

It dripped with desolate machine roars
and those were the customers.
The poor shop keeper, once in a while, slid in her knitted socks to the mechanical fiend and grabbed a gawkily warm ice cream cone

And all of a sudden
the sky is blue
No- I'm not sad
It's not lonely
Rather calm
The curtain dances as the wind blows
Calmly, peacefully
Birds are chirping
I am alive
I look past outside the window
Trees are steady
Leaves are following the lead of the wind
I wish I had someone to lead me like the wind
I'll go wherever it takes me
Even though I know in the end I would fall on the ground

some things in life
are about as meaningful
as a pencil without lead.

- v.m

blank pages & hard pencil marks in wrong places
all in an attempt to resurrect my soul
from the ditch i buried it in
with the hands of corners
that bleed within their thin marrow
i sit and wait for errors to be committed
to be committed to, for eternity

errors are blank pages, waiting to be filled
with tangerine kisses of hope
until the lead runs out
and the pencil breaks
like the millions of stitches i pry open
stitches on an already presumed dead line of text