Something’s
gray, to scream for color, where a flower wilts. I’m found in turmoil, to
censure woes, scattered in pieces. I reach for sadness, to channel joy, tucked
in a knot. Something’s fallin, a part of self, lost for music. Where’s
paradise, a tattooed fortress, ever to gain access. Oh we perish, tethered to
grief, smiling through particles. I need for signs, a spoken breath, to grit
for freedoms. There’s a cave, filled with relics, storming through childhood.
The air is stale, sore for agreement, and drugged off pains. I climb a ladder,
a beam of light, fraught with guilt; for mother’s dying, cuffed to hell,
grinning at mischief. I care for peace, to mold for fragments, a need for
decisions. Its earth for conscience, a flood of therapists, to knit through
heartaches. I’m there, filled with voice, as fractured as trauma. Let night
mourn, ever for morning, a set design; for hurt lives, to thresh a soul,
stressing through waves. It’s more desire, to feel for seals, to live a solid
sentence. I write for shifts, to soar with wings, sullen for wretched.
“Exchange” I ask, to filter self, where sulfur’s thick. I’m lowly mad, to feel
for facts, to turn a compass. Something’s gray, a great expansion, low on fuel.
I trek a garden, somewhere a heart, pruning ‘motions; for there’s a feast,
fraught with monsters, feeling for sanity. I turn left, to witness eagles, a
system of tears; for there’s a hole, a face of wars, pitted against itself. Its
ink for jewels, to write for freedom, staring at barefaced emotions. I cringe,
to pierce for magic, a curse for blessedness. I return, a stiffened neck,
shaking a fist. It’s hard to laugh, even for kittens, counting infractions. I’m
shorn, piecing letters, ever to strike for ember.
