She called me over when her parents left, and invited me over for a date.
Before I was in her room
It was advised to bring some protection.
Latex?

All for her to be done?
————

Latex Gloves.
I pulled out and began scanning my fingers across her room.

At the end of the room :vines.

Vines from trees, flowers emerging through and from. An allergenic smell emitted—carving out the thick toxins as they fell onto the floor like a staircase of crumbling debris.
Like pages of books falling flat onto the floor ill by the plague and far from recovery.

The smell of lavendery-daffodils. Like new laundry, everything was scented in this room, by color and by smell.

No visualization decoded by my eyes all because they were fried.
Red and puffed.

The frequency in the room, making zap-roided sounds.
Electric like all the different shades of blue, a savory sound and a unironic taste.
I would not want to explain because I kept it all to myself.

I marveled at it all and not whatever was in front of me.

I viewed her emotions as inferior to this delight of a room.

Far better than anything sensory she could of course do.

A distraction these walls became
Overwhelming to me was not the best of both worlds.

The only distractions were nothing but this interior design…

Over sticks, and stones...
no broken bones ...
only thick bands ringing
neck, and throat.

I floated onward, anyway:
my fainted,
fading body, splayed;
swathed, and rolled,
in a jacket shroud,

as gently, as...a paper wave.
Yet, onward, pulled,
on grasses, loud,

As softly, as
...a blackened cloud.

I feel myself

atrophy
Thoughts, splayed
like beautiful, oiled legs
in a ******* centerfold...
Thoughts, disarrayed
in a state of feeble decay
I'm taken apart,
deconstructed
What's a brain, with a broken vessel,
what's a spine,
when the medulla oblongata,
falls,
to a gelatinous mush?

put me away, piece by piece
in boxes
that open, to reveal,
smaller boxes, and smaller boxes still
I become...miniscule... miniature
inconsequential,
in the great nature of things

a little wooden matryoshka doll, being peeled from its shell
layer by layer...
but what if the innermost chamber
is hidden, under lock and key

and what if you crack it open, to find
your fingers are smeared,
in the pungency, of my blood?

It matters not...
I drift skyward...no tether,
to pull me down, to earth again
and there's not enough oxygen,
to breathe,
as I drift through space...
but if I return to Earth...

the sudden resurgence of gravity
will bring me crashing,
to the ground.

...And it all...Goes...Black.

Resin glazes
soft, buzzy lips,
like oozing droplets,
of fine, dark sap.
A flash, of dancing tangerine,
tangoes, absently,
before bleary,
red-rimmed eyes,
as I light up
and burn down,
the entire rainforest...
just a few little leaves, at a time.

Bristles, glide delicately...
over cold refuse.

Random bits,
of detritus:
and your broom devours them,
indiscriminate
a placidly lurking monster,
with an unchoosy palette.  

It's almost a mindless,
shuffling dance,
with failure, for a willing partner,
while regret, lingers sulkily,
in a dark corner of the room,
and watches the two of you
locked,
in a very forced
minuet.

The world feels like it's over,
and every brush stroke, feels
like its own humdrum ending.

Then,
all at once,
when you least expect it, to


your agitated trash ,
lifts its papery little wings,
takes flight,
and flutters gently away,
in a storm of linen,
beige, and white.

The faintest flicker of hope,
rises, from the discard pile:

a wildcard moth
seeking its own, besotted flare,
of quavering torchlight.

Would you have loved me
If i was a worm?
Crushed and torn
Like i mattered nothing at all.

If I could pull the threads,
that stitched the universe, together...
If I could slip between the tracks,
and barricade myself,
between buoyant clusters, of atoms
would you take note of my absence?
Would you remember I existed?
Would you even register,
the loss of me?
Or would I become as distant,
and extraterrestrial to you,
as a forgotten galaxy,
would you recall little more, than
terra firma, beneath your feet,
and never notice
that there's a hole
in the weeping glass dome,
above you?