I fall so easily back into these spaces,
the dislodged, unmade bed of a mind half-asleep.
One eye open,
the drowsy weight of thoughts half-considered and debts unpaid.
Today I am purple and blues,
the change of habitat rendering my arms bruised
and my face shades of indigo.
I couldn't find sleep here, but I chase dreams anyways.
I can't find stability in the sky, or the clouds -
precipitous metaphors; precipitation imminent,
I follow them north until they open with such force
that I have no choice but to become clean.
All the night there is raindrops,
and the sound of a million tiny heartbeats.
My own is lost in the pulsing,
but I am louder in my anonymity.
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