2018-02-19

the bare arms of someone i'll never know

You wake up with flames in your eyes. And a lot of death trying to reverse itself in the mirror. Place your ear flat against the wall. Listen to the splinters, listen to a brown fog blowing through the rusted chain-link fences of the 1940's. The shadows of grandparents clasping hands in the hazy sunrise of tall grass and distant tree lines. Try to remember what it feels like to feel good. Everything is quiet. Except for the ghost of laughter, the ripple of water and time.