You believe the world is burning
because the shade dances
around your casting shadow
bleeding what is real
into the reels of your home movies.
Old photographs
pictures drawn
where you clearly see the lead snaps
or the ink run thin
is where your finger follows through
from one center
to another labyrinth
you get swallowed
in.
Your nail scratches
the top soil
of my brain matter
digging in
and feeling for reason
if memory served right
i wouldnt be this raw
untamed
like water moving over the ice.
i refuse my prison
of rooms with broken lights
trying to read the writing
on the walls.
waking up lonely
because youre the only one
who knows
what comes of it.
you saw the world burn
without a casting shadow
and no one believed you
as you dined on the endings
of long stories
put to rest
in the authors coffin.
only in the dreams
you die in.
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