As trying to sleep turns impossible,

and struggling to take the next breath overpowers

the terrorism of knowing it may be my last,

I fall asleep for moments 'til fear of asyphyxia

forces my waking anew to the terror of knowing

I could have been dead

and if I fall asleep again I may be,

as well as the twist that

there's nothing I can do about any of it.

Now they are building a palace
In the garden we once met
Without mortar or bricks or stones
We built a palace of shining floors

Yellow wasn’t always my favourite colour, but I once read that Vangogh swallowed yellow paint in an effort to know happiness;
      so I chose to be that for people.
You could chew me up and spit me back out and I’d still shine for you.

But when the skies are overcast,
and the clouds weep;
and you hear the thunder roll in,
I’ll be the yellow paint you swallow.
Only this time, the happiness stays,
and you don’t have to cut your ear off
in order to win my heart.

I may be my own yellow now, but I’ll be the colour of sunshine for you too.

neon red humming
in the shape of a Heart
on the crumbling facade
of a house
telling stories of
sad love songs
lost souls hoping
to be found
and sins
that were born
in a dance