to satisfy this hunger and to overcome this failing passion,
what can i do?
the atmosphere, the air and temperature the distasteful lighting and fear.
a red chair collides with my spine, it’s wheels cold on my toes, it’s stiffness molded by my bones and the walls. although painted a different color, a subtle shade of blue, still feel as if they were raging with a searing pink, not much has changed at all. i’ve come so far only to realign with that long and durable fall. this desire to create and breathe is no longer discreet, i’m beginning to tackle these demons head on with no caution in between. the pattern i weave my life in has no parallel, i don’t expect a world of analyzers and defenders to comprehend this, my words are like puzzle pieces but none of them fit together.
POETRY 