leaves fall"october"every leaf fallencould not eat my heart diseasei hear birds singing"barbed wire fences"the days descendingon open fields of sunlightburn my mouth like salt"the river"i loved you but youdrowned in the big black riverwhile the trees whispered
days I remember the smell of the air vents when I was three years old. That clean trailor smell easing my carpet burn. These memories are my echoes shattering against the thick, white walls of my mind. My mind - all checkered-patterned with endless tiles of days passed. I remember how things used to be. Days under the Sun, lying in the sand. Everything is bad now. There's no balance of good and bad in my life. Everything that is good seems so minute, even non-existant and everything bad is an astronomical tragedy. Sometimes I think about drilling a hole through the thick, white walls and letting the black-and-white tiles spill onto my blue magi
crashi am letting gotires thump reflective markersi cross the yellow
insomniatheir words echoinginsomnia deafens themi'm under water