skating the thinning space between oblivion and sanity.

it’s strange how close together caring too much and not at all sit—like welcoming statues framing the pathway to a house born of colorful sorrow.

held together by stitches and aggravated lines and

blooming bruises as if the darkness i harbor presses itself against the window of my skin, begging for a way out.

waiting for a sign

or real reasons to let go, these hands are bloodied from holding on to crumbling figments and elusive silhouettes.

calloused fingers creased with aching memory don’t allow for the smoothest of unraveling;

how did it all get so tangled ?

tasting allusions of control, morsels that prevent starvation but leave a stomach hungry for a sense of stability but a mouth watering for fickle pleasure.

darkened scars hardened stories

fabled realities peppering dreams like stars strewn across a cloudless sky.

how many iterations of loss glide across tired eyelids?

does grief itself not get weary of this endless dance?