Gone is the summer I could never remember
last year's wind still flowing
dreams of days and days
thoughts that do no harm
… and no good

What rivalry does this mindset invoke?
Could dreams make reality suffer?

The answer is hazy, filled with commas and directions to an outward gaze…
such a hard act to swallow

the wind is continuous, making strands of hair go singular

overpowering and gleaming with glazed eyes
… as is today… when the moon is kept unseen… invisible…

madness should be kept calm and under wraps
… though it is not

it's as if a beacon is constantly crying out for companionship in this void
as if days that died before, somehow shine through it's velvety vail

days long gone are never really lost
hard to recall… if possible at all
but there… seeping into the present
as though they carried something vital

something important… best left gone… at least in pieces
… resting, seemingly dead… acting as ghosts

wandering in and out of consciousness
whispering barely unheard noise
telling nothing and taking calm away
… leaving sweetly showered shreds behind

pieces of pieces… like a puzzle… cut in half
… shredded and put through a meat-grinder
Can you make it out?
… all I see is dust…

the gray made out of a million different colors
mangled into a fine paste… left to dry
on every single surface… and every single word
fingerprints that shouldn't be
…. the exhales of a million inhales

a breath that breaths itself breaths nothing
… introverted breathing exercise…

much like life

/