indigo and other new colors
are darker than scars to me,
but scars are not martyrs.

"I do not know.
I am sorry"."

I AM SORRY
THAT

while cold amplifies the ardent aura of
authentic hearts,
reflections aren't always viewed in light,
and retrospect fails to open the front door
to all of the curls in your hair that you never
straightened.

Nature is a force that beckons us to reconsider our northern destinations-
southbound state of minds deny
that suns are only one color.

Suns and hearts are
indigo scars
of past lives,
reminding me
of why I refuse to see
color in irises.

a
silver-lined,
acute and astute
reflection
tells me that the
veins in my forehead will never replace
everything you've exhaled
to deserve a place to
rest your bones.

The cloud you sleep on
will never return,
but every drop that has pierced my skull
stays to sting,
singing sharply,
so that I may see color
once again.

--

a month is passing
while your tongue is losing grace.

When you stand in a cornfield,
you cannot see your sisters,
who lie on the other side,
enjoying the butter
and smiling.

Time is passing,
and closing my eyelids
does not erase your faces.

I haven't had enough to eat today,
or in weeks.

Keep looking,
keep tasting.

A month has passed.

While your faces lose grace,
I will tear the stitches
off of the straitjacket
you threw on the back porch.

--

I love you.
I am better off without you

.

You will
neutralize.

You will
(              )
what I
am running
from.

Please,
for the sake
of


life


(            ),

leave.

Please,
give me
equilibrium.

()


(    )

I do not need anyone
to complete me.

l(y)i(e)ng,
providing,
and comp-
romising (together).

It is a sweet scent of a drive with no windows.
It is a hint of the things you wish you could accurately reminisce without putting clouds over the whole scene, even where there was shade and everyone was comfortable.
It puts every thunderstorm into a purse and throws it across the room and further away from hearts because what else lies in that purse is nothing in comparison to the soul that bears it.

When you lose it,
it is a nosebleed
that cannot ever stop
pouring.