i caught myself wondering if
i could somehow find a way to evaporate. 

                                                 a temporary existence listened
                                                   to my rambling, miles off,
                                                     and carved their name on the inside of my throat. 

 the radio crackles a few meters away but i feel
less connected to it than ever.

today i let the sunlight
bleed into my retinas,
sitting with my legs perched up on the table;
the half-undone zipper of my sweater
burned against my stomach. 

i imagine leaning over to kiss you between
                                                                                                    words, and breathing in shakily while ensconcing myself in your warmth.   

the frosted puff-breaths of winter
                                     entangled with cherry blossoms and hyacinths and daffodils—the sun stole their yellows and gripped them close—
                                        and we all managed to sigh under the rain
   or between bursts of lightning,
streaking across the sky.

                                               the bated breaths of the eager
rested within their chests, waiting for a bus to round the corner.  

it seemed like the only season i loathed
was whichever one i was in. 

sickness between my ribs and 

           i honestly knew that i would shrivel to bone if
                        i didn’t have hands pressing into my shoulders,

directing me from grape vine to apple orchard.

the cage around me tightened until my head was
tucked between my knees;
shallow breaths kept me from suffocating.  

i was obsessed with the idea of perfection
and felt that if it didn’t exist
then neither could i.

parasites slithered within my bloodstreams and
i scratched at my skin hoping that it would
crumble off delicately onto the floor.

zephyr and flowery aromas coexisted together,
and perhaps hurricanes were mixed in with
sunny days. 

the four petals that surrounded that interiors of my

                                     ((heart))

          spoke in rhythms and rhymes,
about how i could be something beyond what i

                                                                already was.

       the days pressed into weeks and months
 though
                                                                          and they still echoed above the clouds.  

sometimes i felt that these sentiments might stretch for miles
and they were boundless and ran rampant.

                   i thought that maybe the negatives meant nothing
                            because i felt like my heart encompassed the world— 

but i never moved from between colourless walls

                                                         that contained my silent soul. 

light-hearted and melodramatic,

                      you’ve lost sight of where you stored your heart.

perhaps in cupboards or
on top of dusty shelves,

                        but even if you found it

how would you manage to put it back? 

you are uncertainties and melanges of things i’ve never encountered.

the skies are split up

                                                                into parts and spread wide,

and the far past echoings of
what i wish to have and what i have

                   are starting to resonate together.