It was the color of the sheet covering his body,
And the pigment of my bloodless face

“He shot himself.”
The sentence laced through my body like static.

Soft palmed cops offered obligatory condolences
While contemplating tonight’s dinner options

White
It was the church walls as your mother cried in silence,
And the film of dust now covering the kitchen counters
But it wasn’t the color of the walls, was it?

For once in your godforsaken life, just be happy for someone else.

It was an esoteric statement,
Perhaps one only a beast could understand

He will tell her to kneel
Like a cog in the wheel
Don't dare question or feel

Merely harness her thoughts
Simply bind them in knots
Her time has been bought

I will own your soul.

Perhaps for just a moment...
As your right hand caresses the page
I will procure your consciousness
As the dishes in the sink rest
As the ceiling fan lethargically laces the room


I will make you feel unapologetically alive.

I never understood how it was,
that poets could use words bigger than themselves.