I tried closing my pale eyes, like a water-chestnut dipped in currents and oceans
to put some relief on my maniacal themes, running like a sleep- walker. I converge, and dilate like music of light to imbue the monotonous sickening truth of your eyes. The sickening and sickening and sickening spit of your mouth.
I know it’s your zig-zag thousands salts of despondency, blur like a haze or an abstruse hook of pills and lies. Is it too bad for you? Or you want to dissect my ribcage, with a shovel of time. Spandex face, your smile a myth. I want you to change the sheets of my bed, change its theme and its moist forlorn tales. Could your reverse the pills and dig a choir of bursting waves of illusions & smear the sunken hope on my lips of mirror? They might crackle, if you run. They might become a figment of silver sound, lost yet found. Could you reach me out?
Like oil- dyed bodies collapsing and wondering. Like valleys & wine sticking to the mountains. Could you see it?