Act from your brain not pain
It's a reminder you are alive
Rebirth throught it again
A threshold ****** to strive
Vow to stitch wounds alone
Learn to be your own nurse
Drift with bruises on a bone
As dancing on a purple verse
Make your lovely tender heart
Master the steps of letting go
Instead of being torn apart
No force could resist it's flow
As a boat with waters around
Could not be drown below
Yet if water enters its ground
All his strength would blow

∴ Lyna Salman

I love Fall time

I love the colors

We came to be an official couple in the Fall

But I almost died

In the Fall as well

That day had so many things, smells, places

You saved my life twice

I was thinking of the way
the air felt today

How it reminded me of Fall

Then all I wanted to do was cry

Dual trauma

Just each is different

I get that ugly feeling everything will be
taken away from me

Now I understand why

I remember the Fall
I remember the bokeh

Placed in a vase and kept by our bedroom
window

It took your breath away, fed off your lungs
and grew so monstrous by dark

We tried in vain to replace what was lost
with the artificial:

Albuterol haze, Gaussian distribution

It failed, as you know

And I too fell within the blur of the rebound effect,
struggling to keep from panic

Then rang alarums that lay-in-wait, then came red lights,
then came shouting for help

You laid on the livingroom floor, intubated

Life nearly snuffed out

Me in tremors, two cats hiding

You would survive, but neither of us would
ever be the people before

Clearly, not all blur is equal, each has its own aesthetic quality

Mine tends to fall under the umbrella of disturbing thought patterns

We each reflect on different things
about that day

My fail-safe is trying not to remember at all

When all my dreams are lively dreams no more,
And dirt, my winter blanket covers me;
To join as dust eternal time has store;
The fate of fates does destine mine to be.
No shine of summer reach below the field
Let barren as the life had lived, now low,
But lest a bed of grass have fresh dirt shield
So none may think me buried six below.
That gentle patter of the autumn winds
Not play the beat this core once drummed ago
When spring did glow before what time recinds,
Leave damp and lonely soil and all it's woe:

That cold; be all my seasons, all of four
If I am not to see you evermore.