LivingDeadScarecrow

Unravel me in rainy days, in grey skies. Tie me up for weeks in petrichor. Lead me til we're lost in colors gone dull, until what's left of the outside world is just smudges on our windowpane.

again, I am left barefoot & bare boned wishing I could dive into dreams, make them my reality; all the fragments of nonexistence, streets I know by heart in towns I've never seen, & snow that glows under street lamps in the dark - a place that feels alive, like every atom of every telephone pole, rock, or blade of grass has a palpable heartbeat that breathes into the night it seems so accessible as thought & form but awareness cuts the tie as easily as cutting spider webs

I am restless; centipedes parade under my skin favoring shoulders & arms as I favor each scalpel's weight with uncertain fingertips and blades. Removal is a necessity brought on by anxious minds and the urge to run; streets crumble behind each step I take - the sound is somewhat soothing like distant thunder over oceans. The reality is menacing, the crashing avalanche sight sends bolts of terror into my lungs where it spreads spindley fingers into every connecting fiber & bone until legs weaken & tense all at once. I can't see any path with certainty; the tide rolls over every plan etched into the beach, swallows whole every semblance of

You remind me of dreaming, of the stories I used to create in late night sessions during phases of theseblanketswillnotswallowmewhole and it felt as if insanity would rather consume all these fractured thoughts without a broken backwards glance towards pillars that never really kept me safe, instead wonder when I'll realize I've been ghost writing the past few days with ink spilling carelessly over pages that could capture more than the meaningless yet show no remorse either way.

When half asleep poetry makes a meal of your soul- waking to find bedsheets & pillowcases covered in ink and unintelligible thoughts, eyes search without seeing the bottom of a coffee mug or similarly colored carpets and the world becomes a blur of things undescribed yet not unable & the only stanza left unscathed by breath or skin reads something like: I wish our hearts were kaleidoscopes; one sideways look would hold the answers to another's chest. Yet I cannot predict how mine would appear; whether storms could be seen arriving on a desert landscape or simply nothing would be inside; a lack of shape and form, just lackluster bubbles of wa

I've been walking around with intestines, stomach, & spleen spilled out, carrying them in my arms like dirty laundry [I can't get clean of all the blood] All eyes are void of space & nothing that ever came from deep within lungs has meant a thing other than some sad song coughed up for no one's delight or a strangled breath you could do without And all I cut away is the resistance needed to form wire into hooks to hang your skin on at the end of every sand and bleach washed month While the moon grins with bleeding teeth & ragmop hair.